


you never said I love you

by wayytoodeepin



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Same College, Slow Build, Slow Burn, also angst, and mild frottage woah escalated quickly, and sad oikawa, beware of diabetes, crying., domestic IwaOi, i warned you, lots and lots of angsty oikawa, lots of frikin fluff, mutual pining in pAIN, oh and kissing, they're both hopeless idiots, tune in for your daily dose of oblivious idiots Being In Love, unrequited love - or is it ;)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-24 03:28:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 86,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12004056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wayytoodeepin/pseuds/wayytoodeepin
Summary: But of course, losing to Karasuno when victory was right at his fingertips isn't all the shitty universe has in store for him, as Oikawa finds out the hard way when he breaks his knee and is never able to play volleyball again. But that's okay, he's still okay, because he has Hajime beside him and they're going to go to the same college and they'll stay together forever, right?Hajime didn't sign up for this when he first became the best friend of one Oikawa Tooru, all this love and heartbreak and pain. It wasn't in the job description, and he rather thinks that suddenly realizing you're in love with your best friend is something that should definitely have been included, although he can't honestly say that he wouldn't do it all over again.





	1. iwaizumi pov

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to iwaoi hell. prepare to be stuck in this bottomless abyss for the rest of your life

It’s late. It’s late and Oikawa still isn’t back yet, and Iwaizumi grumbles to himself, flinging on a coat as he stumbles out of the house onto the sidewalk, rubbing his bloodshot eyes blearily. He spends almost every day studying until he can barely open his eyes. University, and all that.

The walk to school isn’t very long, but it’s cold, and his nose is red and burning with the sharp sting of a familiar cold. The gym lights are on, and he pauses outside of the door for a moment, listening to the sound of volleyballs hitting the ground with a solid smack, full of a raw power and a precision Iwaizumi can already visualize in his head.

He enters just as Oikawa is in the middle of a jump serve, his body arched and slick with sweat, glinting in the harsh artificial light of the gym, arm raised over his head as he sends the ball barreling over the net, slamming into the ground so hard the sound rings in his ears. Oikawa lands, and Iwaizumi doesn’t miss the way his knees tremble and threaten to give way under him, or the telltale flicker of pain that vanishes as he straightens.

Iwaizumi can see the beginnings of the same old well-practiced smile form on his face, and it’s horribly fake and just pisses Iwaizumi off because this idiot insists on hurting himself yet still pretends that everything is all right. Like hell.

“Stop it. Don’t smile if you don’t mean it, shittykawa.” Iwaizumi storms over and grabs his collar, damp from exhaustion. “We’re leaving.”

Oikawa resists, digging his heels in and pouting like a 3-year-old, like he thinks it will work on Iwaizumi, not when they both know it won’t.

“Aww, Iwa-chan, you didn’t have to come all the way out here just to get me! I can walk home by myself just fine!” Oikawa leans in until their noses are inches apart, and Iwaizumi can feel his breath ghosting across his lips. His hand is still wrapped around Oikawa’s shirt, around his neck, and he dimly realizes how easy it would be to pull him down and close the distance between them. “Or are you worried that someone might try to kidnap me, because I’m just so beautiful and charming and irresistible?”

The familiar rhythm of their banter snaps Iwaizumi out of… whatever-it-is, and he is appalled at himself. What the hell just happened? What was he thinking? He’s pretty sure his whole face is red right now, heating up like a toaster as he inwardly panics. Hopefully Oikawa will just think he’s flushing from anger, not embarrassment.

“Shittykawa! Trashykawa! Like anyone would want to kidnap you!” Iwaizumi flings Oikawa away, watches as he stumbles back laughing, cooling sweat falling from his temples and glittering like diamonds on the floor. Even disheveled and overworked, Oikawa’s hair is perfect as usual, wavy and styled and sleek. Iwaizumi growls. Some people get all the luck.

“Come on, let’s go.” Iwaizumi walks off, switching the lights off behind him, knowing Oikawa will follow. Sure enough, he skips ahead, like he hasn’t been grinding on the court for more than five hours, like Iwaizumi doesn’t have to drag his ass out every night.

He watches Oikawa out of the corner of his eye, the way his eyes shine in the streetlight, lighting up when he talks about volleyball and aliens, because Oikawa talks all the time, about everything and anything, and-

“Iwa-chan! Are you even listening to me?”

Iwaizumi blinks, trying to recall what Oikawa has been saying and fails terribly.

“I wasn’t – “

And then Iwaizumi’s reflexes kick in and he grabs Oikawa’s arm, hauling him back up to his feet, preventing Oikawa from falling as his knees buckle, unable to hold up his weight.

“Idiot!! You know your knee is injured already, overworking yourself is only going to make it worse!!” Iwaizumi barks, acute fear spiking through him and making his voice sharp. He shakes Oikawa’s arm maybe a little too roughly, worry bleeding into his voice as he says, softer, “No more staying back late.”

Oikawa’s eyes are wide with shock and pain and some other emotion Iwaizumi can’t quite identify, but he grimaces and looks away.

“I mean it.” Iwaizumi grinds out.

“Iwa-chan! I always knew you cared about me!” Oikawa’s false smile is plastered to his face, voice ringing with a hollow cheerfulness that neither feels, echoing loudly in the dark silence. “After all, you love me the best!”

“I’m serious, Oikawa.” Frustration bubbles to the surface and his fist clenches involuntarily around Oikawa’s arm. “This is serious. You could end up really hurting yourself.”

Oikawa avoids his eyes and tries to shrug it off with a forced nonchalance. He doesn’t want to admit defeat, Iwaizumi thinks, because he blames it on himself, every time, for every loss. And this match against Karasuno was especially bad, because Kageyama was there to rub it in his face.

“You worry too much. I’ll be fine.” And there’s a coldness there that wasn’t quite there before, a stiff finality fenced around his words that Iwaizumi doesn’t like.

And once again Iwaizumi is overwhelmed by helplessness and frustration, because he just wants to make this idiot see, and while he doesn’t know how to deal with helplessness, he knows how to deal with rage. Rage is good. Anger is good. He knows how to handle that.

“You’re being an idiot!” Iwaizumi smacks him on the head, ruffling his perfect brown curls. He pulls on Oikawa’s arm, this time being the one who brings their faces close together, watches his brown eyes widen in surprise and a guarded anger. “You are hurting yourself. Overworking yourself isn’t going to help the team any. We lost. Deal with it.”

Years of practically living with Oikawa has seasoned him in the nuances of his facial features, his quirks, and now he can tell that Oikawa is hurting, both emotionally and physically, faced with a truth he doesn’t want to admit. And when that happens, he lashes out. Oikawa likes to find the little chinks in people’s proverbial armor and use words to attack them ruthlessly. Oikawa likes watching people break, likes breaking them. That’s just the way he is, and Iwaizumi knows it.

So when his lips twist into an expression of carefully constructed scorn and disgust, when his eyes narrow into slits and his chin lifts up high, using his height as an advantage to stare down at Iwaizumi, he tries not to let it get to him. He tries not to let it hurt when Oikawa spits out, “At least some of us try, Iwa-chan. Some of us care about volleyball and winning and losing and try to get better through practice. Not that you would know.”

He tries to tell himself that Oikawa doesn’t mean it and he’s just exhausted and overworked and probably not thinking straight, would never say such things otherwise. He tries, and tries and tries, but it feels like his vision is tunneling and all he can see is Oikawa’s scorn and loathing. Pent up frustration and exhaustion from staring too long at too many textbooks are making his vision blurry and there’s a strange feeling in his gut, wrenching and painful and hard.

“And here I thought best friends are supposed to help each other, to support each other, but you’ve done nothing but get in my way!” Oikawa is almost shouting now, and Iwaizumi lets go of his arm and steps back. “What kind of friend are you? I wish you would just stop.”

It feels like something snaps, then. Something is irrevocably and irreparably broken. Maybe it’s Iwaizumi’s self-control. Or maybe it’s their trust. Whatever it is, his default emotion – anger – comes rising up like a great tide of unspoken words, fueled by hurt and frustration and worry. There is a tightness in his throat, and when he speaks, it comes out all raspy and clipped, tension strung taut between each word.

“Fine. You know what? Fine. Have it your way. Go back to the gym and practice or whatever. I’m not gonna stop you, so go ahead and you work yourself to death. Because I don’t care anymore.”

And then there’s simply no good way to end this, so Iwaizumi turns and walks away, but not fast enough to miss the look on Oikawa’s face. Before his face twisted into a blank mask of aloofness, for just a moment, Oikawa looked absolutely gutted.

 

✫✫✫ 

 

It isn’t that they've never fought before. Of course they have, but it’s usually just insignificant fights about unimportant things that don’t really matter, easily brushed off and then everything would be normal again. But their friendship and volleyball were the two main things they mostly never touched upon, each recognizing the lines not to be crossed. Until today.

Iwaizumi can still remember that one time when they were 8 years old and in a fit of rage, he threw Oikawa’s favorite alien snow globe at the wall, whereupon it exploded into a million jagged fragments of glass and glitter, the alien bobble head lying limp and bent in a pool of liquid and shattered trust.

Iwaizumi can still remember how awful he felt, staring dumbly at the broken snow globe, even as Oikawa started to scream.

That wasn’t me, he wanted to say. I wouldn’t do something like that.

But he did, and he was confused and guilty and ashamed. Oikawa shunned him for a whole week before Iwaizumi plucked up the courage to go next door armed with an apology, and vast amounts of milk bread. Oikawa is the one who holds grudges, and stews over them for long periods of time, plotting revenge and the best ways to gouge out someone’s eyes.

But this, this is different. This time, they had both meant it, and it hurt. Being Oikawa’s best friend meant willingly resigning himself to spend the rest of his life with the single most annoying person in the whole universe, who also has the absolute worst personality.

Oikawa’s the type of person who fries ants with a magnifying glass and puts salt on snails to watch them shrivel up and die, laughing all the while.

Iwaizumi sometimes feels like The Sidekick, especially in volleyball, when he watches Oikawa’s pure brilliance and dedication for the sport outshine the rest of the team, when Oikawa tosses to him balls that fits perfectly in the middle of his hands as he sends it whirling down over the net, when Oikawa picks apart all the players on all the teams to exploit their weaknesses and tear them apart from the inside, while Iwaizumi watches on the sidelines, occasionally dragging his bloodthirsty ass away.

Iwaizumi groans out loud and runs his hand through his tangled hair, staring moodily at the pavement. He slept too late the night before and woke up late, hardly having any time to throw on a change of clothes before rushing to school.

“Don’t look over at Oikawa’s house, Hajime,” he mutters, averting his eyes, not wishing to see Oikawa standing outside his house waiting, the way they always wait for each other. More likely though, Oikawa has already left. He doesn’t know which would be worse if he looked.

It’s the first time in… he can’t even remember the last time he  _didn’t_  walk to school with Oikawa. The silence is… weird. Iwaizumi hurries to school and misses morning volleyball practice as the bell rings, signaling first period.

Class is boring, as usual, but Iwaizumi tries extremely hard to focus. He knows that he’s not a genius like Oikawa and probably has around average intelligence, meaning he has to study pretty darn hard if he wants to make it to a good university.

Oikawa doesn’t have a problem, though. Oikawa has already received so many sports scholarships to so many different universities, Iwaizumi can’t quite catch up at this rate. He needs to score better, or else Oikawa will leave him behind.

He’s not even sure if that’s a legit concern at this point, because what if they never resolve this fight? He’s probably overthinking it and worrying too much, but… Iwaizumi feels guilty, for saying that he didn’t care, when it’s so obvious that he does, and the baka really should know that too.

Besides, Oikawa was the one who started it all, it isn’t his fault…

Iwaizumi wants to thank all his lucky stars that he hasn’t once seen Oikawa yet, since they’re in different classes, a fact that he’s never been truly thankful for until now. Eating lunch on the rooftop alone is, again, a novelty, without anyone trying to steal his beloved agedashi tofu or chattering inanely about the new alien movie that just premiered.

The sky is a deep sapphire, and Iwaizumi leans his head back against the railing and closes his eyes.

“Oikawa-senpai! Would you like to try my homemade bento?”

“Oikawa-sama!”

“S-Senpai!”

“AAAA!”

There’s a sudden disturbance in the school courtyard below, and Iwaizumi doesn’t have to open his eyes to know what’s happening. Annoyance causes his eyebrow to twitch violently, imagining Oikawa basking in the attention of underclassman and smirking flirtatiously, and Iwaizumi will march up and sink his fist into Oikawa’s perfectly chiseled abs before grabbing his collar and slamming his lips against Oikawa’s soft …

“GAH!”

Iwaizumi scrambles to his feet, shaking his head wildly and shuddering. Goddamnit, what is wrong with him? It must be the lack of sleep that’s messing with his brain. He’ll probably have more time on his hands since Oikawa isn’t monopolizing all his time with his whims anymore. Iwaizumi sighs, head in his hands. The silence is unfamiliar, and cold.

For the first time in his life, Iwaizumi is reluctant to go volleyball practice. He’ll have to meet Oikawa, and he’s not sure how to react.

Iwaizumi hopes to hell that there exists somewhere some manual on “How to behave around your best friend who after a fight may not be your best friend anymore” and it would magically appear in Iwaizumi’s hands so he won’t say or do something stupid later on.

Of course, nothing happens. Iwaizumi is changing into his uniform when Oikawa bursts into the locker room, all bright smiles and cheerful greetings, looking right past Iwaizumi, face carefully neutral. Iwaizumi goes along tentatively, but decides to confront him about it after practice has ended. He’s not going to spend a week worrying about this.

They don’t talk the whole of practice. Oikawa still tosses to him, and Iwaizumi still spikes the ball, but there’s no spoken communication, the closest being a moment when they accidently meet each other’s eyes across the court. Iwaizumi is hyper aware of Oikawa, especially now that he’s actively keeping himself from looking, but his presence is a physical being, impossible to ignore and terrifyingly large.

It’s almost scary how in tandem they are even when they’re not talking. On court, their squabbles fade into the background and the rhythmic squeak of sports shoes fill the air. It’s relaxing, and yet with each passing moment Iwaizumi tenses a little more, acutely aware of Oikawa as he shouts “nice play!” or as he runs, and Iwaizumi’s eyes will catch upon the sliver of exposed skin as Oikawa’s shirt slides up with the force of his momentum. Iwaizumi hates himself a little more and can’t decide whether or not he wants practice to end soon.

And then they’re changing in the locker room, and Iwaizumi takes a deep breath, turning around and saying “Oikawa-“ And Oikawa comes barreling past him, calling out “bye-bye~” over his shoulder, cutting him off abruptly. The familiar rage rises up in Iwaizumi, and he snags Oikawa’s arm.

“Wait, Oikawa – “

“Aa~ sorry Iwa-chan, but I have this super important meeting right now! I’ve got to run!” Oikawa looks him dead in the eye, and his eyes are flinty and hard, smile so fake that Iwaizumi can practically taste the bitterness on his tongue. His grip involuntarily loosens, and Oikawa takes off before Iwaizumi can get a word in edgewise.

He stands there for a moment, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, fists clenching and unclenching by his side.

“Trouble in paradise?” Hanamaki swaggers over, shit-eating smirk plastered across his stupid face.

“Ah, young love.” Matsukawa shakes his head and sighs dramatically.

“It’s okay to have relationship problems, bro. We’ve all been there.” Hanamaki places a hand on Iwaizumi’s shoulder.

Iwaizumi really cannot deal with this right now. He counts to ten, then counts to ten again. Then he wonders why anybody ever said counting to ten worked, because it very clearly does not work. At all.

“Seriously, though, what happened?” Matsukawa asks.

“Nothing.” Iwaizumi returns to his locker, getting ready to leave.

“Dude, I could feel all your… sexual tension all the way across the court. It’s obviously not just “nothing”.” Hanamaki says, rolling his eyes. Matsukawa nods, arms folded.

God, Iwaizumi just wants to go home and study. He really doesn’t have the time to deal with them right now. Plus the situation seemed even worse than he thought, because if Oikawa was avoiding him, he must be seriously affected. Or he was just being a brat. The latter seems like a far likelier option.

“I just – ugh, I’ll just… see you next week.” Iwaizumi grunts, pushing past the two of them and heading out into the cool cold night. The road is empty and dark, intermittently lit by flickering streetlamps. Iwaizumi stretches, feeling his sore joints ache with fatigue. It’s silent. The silence is strange. The silence is… lonely.

 

✫✫✫ 

 

The next day is a Saturday, so Iwaizumi sleeps in, relishing being able to rise after the sun. There’s a surreal moment as Iwaizumi opens his eyes and stretches, remembering his promise to Oikawa that they’ll watch Alien Attack! at the cinema today at 8 o’clock, so he’d better do his work fast…

And then reality kicks in as his groggy brain catches up to his inner train of thought and completely derails it as he swears blearily. He grabs a pillow and presses it into his face, trying to breathe past the cotton and half-hoping he’d smother.

Iwaizumi wonders if Oikawa is already awake, bouncing around with his usual infinite amounts of energy, or sleeping in too, eyelashes fluttering as he dreams. 

Sometimes, Iwaizumi watches Oikawa sleep. Which really, shouldn’t be as pevertic or creepy as it probably sounds, because Iwaizumi isn’t a voyeur, goddamnit.

But with his eyes closed and mouth soft, Oikawa looks peaceful, almost angelic. Almost. The thought is marred only by the knowledge of what an absolute _demon_ he turns into when awake.

Iwaizumi sighs, wishing he was in bed next door with Oikawa, so he could feel the press of Oikawa’s bony hip against his thigh, warmth bleeding into his side as they breathed in each other and _existed_ , _being next_ to each other and _being together_ , not separated by this – this impenetrable wall of suffocating awkwardness and guilt and anger. 

Iwaizumi scowls and throws the pillow across the room in disappointment. So much for smothering. He grabs his phone and punches in a text, testing the waters, but already knowing the result. 

_To: Trashykawa_

_movie tonite?_

 

By the time he’s done brushing his teeth, there’s a text waiting for him. Typical Oikawa, on his phone 24/7.

 

_From: Trashykawa_

_sorry iwa-chan! i can’t make it tonight_

 

 _No weird emoji,_ Iwaizumi notes, mentally picturing the ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ s and (~˘▾˘)~s that would usually litter his messages. He shudders, a mix of relief and disappointment curdling in his gut. 

Anyway, Iwaizumi is 100% sure Oikawa is free tonight, because Oikawa is always free to watch alien movies, and they’ve been watching trash (“it’s not trash, Iwa-chan! It’s high quality snapshots of extraterrestrial life!”) together for the past decade or so.

Oikawa isn’t exactly subtle about his motives, and Iwaizumi _knows_ that Oikawa knows that Iwaizumi knows.

 _He’s still avoiding me,_ Iwaizumi thinks, irritation crumpling his features and worry crushing his mouth. _I need to force this, because he’s going to keep running away._

_To: Trashykawa_

_u home?_

 

Iwaizumi’s window faces Oikawa’s, as they both insisted to have rooms facing each other when they were younger, so when Iwaizumi pulls his curtains open, he’s met with a view directly into Oikawa’s room, where said inhabitant is currently dressing.  

Iwaizumi feels kind of like a pervert crouching in the rosebushes spying on his best friend half-naked, but his eyes are drawn to Oikawa’s lithe shape, lean and taut with muscles, watches Oikawa’s firm thighs tense and flex, supple arms straightening and curving delicately. Then Oikawa’s dashing out of the room, emerging from the front door a few moments later. 

Iwaizumi doesn’t realize how hard he’s gripping the windowsill until he releases it, fingers twinging in pain, the sharp edges leaving deep indents on his palm. 

He breathes out slowly, trying and failing to understand _why_ his chest feels tight and his throat is constricted, like someone had socked him hard in the stomach and he’s struggling to breathe past the pain.

Because that’s what it feels like. Pain.

Iwaizumi thinks it’s mental, knows its all in the mind (or heart, but he ignores that), but that doesn’t explain why it feels so _real_ , present and piercing. 

He swallows thickly, turning away and jerking his curtains shut roughly. His phone buzzes on the table, text notification glowing bright.

 

_From: Trashykawa_

_nope i’m out_

 

Was it really so bad that Oikawa felt the need to run from his house just to avoid Iwaizumi?

And yet again, frustration is an all-consuming feeling, so Iwaizumi grinds his teeth together and flops down behind his study desk, not even bothering to open Oikawa’s message. 

His phone pings again.

 

_Hanamaki creates Kiss and Make Up_

_Hanamaki: dude bro Iwaizumi i luv u and all_

_Hanamaki: but damn you gotta make up with Oikawa_

_Matsukawa: serious bruh_

_Matsukawa: how big was your fight this time?_

Iwaizumi can’t believe they’re taking Oikawa’s side without even knowing the full story. Unless Oikawa told them. Which has a 0.000000000001% chance of happening, so Iwaizumi decides to assume that they don’t know.

 

_Iwaizumi: You don’t even know what happened._

_Hanamaki: aw, dude, we don’t even need to know_

_Matsukawa: we know that this is your fault_

_Matskawa: so go make up with Oikawa_

_Iwaizumi: what??_

_Iwaizumi: no, it’s not._

_Iwaizumi: it’s his fault_

_Matsukawa: he literally ran away at practice_

_Matsukawa: from u._

_Matsukawa: not subtle at all buddy_

_Iwaizumi: he just doesn’t want to admit it_

_Hanamaki: it’s wayyyyyy worse than that_

_Hanamaki: your right, we don’t even know what happened, but it sure shook him up bad_

_Matsukawa: ur still stuck in denial_

_Matsukawa: but_

_Matsukawa: u shld b there for him._

_Iwaizumi: i’m not his mom_

_Iwaizumi: i don’t have to hold his hand_

_Hanamaki: his gf broke up wif him day b4 yest_

 

Iwaizumi freezes.

The latest one – Kaede? – has also been the longest one so far. If Iwaizumi remembered correctly, she started dating Oikawa last last Monday, so that made it… a whole 17 days?

Oikawa doesn’t tend to keep girlfriends, no matter how pretty or charming or smitten they are. And girls don’t usually break up with Oikawa. Ever. There is only one other incident, quite a few years back, when the girl had absolutely hated aliens and immediately broke up with him the moment Oikawa had suggested watching some alien movie.

Oikawa had been confused and not quite heartbroken, but hurt and probably nursing an injured pride. Iwaizumi had thought it was hilarious, but still stayed up until 3am playing Mario Kart with Oikawa while he sniffled and complained and sulked. 

Even the ones he does break up with, leaves him feeling moody and irritable afterwards.

Iwaizumi is shocked at how extensive his knowledge of Oikawa’s dating habits are. He mentally trashes his bloody Oikawa Tooru Wikipedia page and tries to focus on the matter at hand.

No wonder Oikawa bit his head off. He was probably working off his disappointment at yet another failed love in the court before Iwaizumi burst in and dragged him out.

Iwaizumi groans and slamms his head on his desk. So it really is his fault.

_Iwaizumi: fuck._

  

✫✫✫

  

_ To: Trashykawa _

_ i’m sorry. _

_ To: Trashykawa _

_ can we talk?   _

 

Iwaizumi pauses from his studying and flexes his fingers, stiff from hours of hunching over a desk. Oikawa has been ignoring his messages, and he’s pretty sure he’s being ignored because Oikawa is never  _not_  online.

 

_ To: Trashykawa _

_ i know ur ignoring me _

 

Iwaizumi decides he doesn’t care if he sounds desperate because to hell with it, he is pretty desperate. His previous feelings of justified anger and hurt had all but dissolved into guilt and worry for Oikawa, although he’s quite sure that Oikawa’s scheming some fancy revenge to make him regret it.

Because that’s who Oikawa is, and that’s what Oikawa does. He schemes and plots and he is dangerous, because his schemes will most likely succeed and break his victim into tiny little pieces.

Iwaizumi isn’t too worried about being torn apart, because he’s known that baka too long for that, and he’s knows that while Oikawa seems pretty goddamn confident and self-assured and probably arrogant, underneath all that bluster and killing intent, Oikawa is actually quite insecure. 

Iwaizumi thinks having a big ego but low self-esteem is probably one of the worst combinations which is exactly why it’s manifested in Oikawa, because Oikawa  _is_  good, and he knows it, but that doesn’t stop him from blaming himself excessively.  

Maybe it’s because he’s captain, and Iwaizumi will sucker punch anyone who says Oikawa isn’t a good captain, because he is.

Oikawa’s just too focused on his faults to see all the other million good things.

 

_ To Trashykawa: _

_ shittykawa dont do this _

~-~

Iwaizumi doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but when he rings the doorbell of the house next door, he half-hopes Oikawa will answer, even though he knows Oikawa left in a great hurry more than 12 hours ago.

The door opens, and he’s met with the smiling face of Oikawa’s mother, Mayumi.

 “Ah, sorry to disturb you, Mayumi-san, but do you know where Oikawa is?”

“Hajime-kun! I haven’t seen you in a while! Come in, come in!”

Mayumi ushers him in and Iwaizumi enters the familiar living room where he spent almost half of his childhood, playing with Oikawa and occasionally breaking expensive pottery or delicate glassware.

When they’re seated and Iwaizumi has been offered tea and cookies, Oikawa’s mother smiles at him, eyes soft and sure, full of some secret knowledge that Iwaizumi can’t begin to comprehend.

“Did you boys fight again?”

Her smile is knowing and her tone teasing, so Iwaizumi decides that she isn’t mad.

“Ha… how did Mayumi-san know?”

A sigh. 

“Tooru came home all grumpy and moody the day before yesterday and he skipped the alien movie with you today.” 

She pauses.

“Tooru  _never_  skips his alien movies.”

Iwaizumi thinks she has a point.

“Yeah, um, well, we did have a fight, and I want to make it up to him, but he keeps avoiding me. Do you know where he went? 

It’s late. It’s late and Oikawa still isn’t back yet, so he’s either in the bar getting wasted or he’s deflating volleyballs in school. 

“Well, I don’t know, Hajime-kun, but he brought his volleyball shoes with him when he left.” 

And that’s all the answer Iwaizumi needs, so he nods and fidgets on the couch, impatient to leave and draining his tea. 

“Don’t worry, Hajime-kun, I’m sure Tooru will understand. Although when you become my son-in-law, I’ll expect you to be more considerate of his feelings.”

Iwaizumi chokes on his tea and coughs, trying not to spit tea in her face.

What the hell?!

“I’m not- we’re not- he didn’t even tell me – what?” Iwaizumi sputters amidst sprays of green tea and stares incredulously at the laughing woman in front of him. 

Oh, great.

He buries his flaming face in his hands and tries to ignore that there’s tea smeared all over his chin.

“Ah, young love.” Mayumi stands, and Iwaizumi gets to his feet, ready to run from this place of demons.

~-~

 

Iwaizumi is halfway to school before he recalls her last words, and “young love” echoes in his head for a full five seconds before its meaning kicks in and Iwaizumi yelps. 

Oikawa’s mother thinks they’re dating.

Iwaizumi wants to crawl into a hole and die.

He doesn’t notice the cold, so intent on his destination that the freezing temperatures don’t bother him.

Sure enough, the gym lights are on and there’s the telltale sound of volleyballs being smacked around by the Demon from Hell, and Iwaizumi pauses outside, doubt and uncertainty diffusing like toxic fumes in his gut.

He walks in, unnoticed by the panting setter as Oikawa lobs yet another volleyball, sweat streaming down the fine lines of his body. 

Oikawa’s overworking himself again, and Iwaizumi’s scared Oikawa’s knees can’t take it.

The shaking is more visible, and Oikawa leans his weight on his other foot, head bowed and shoulders hunched into something small and pathetic, fists clenched by his sides.

“Oi, Oikawa, it’s 1am in the morning.”

Oikawa startles, but doesn’t turn around. Iwaizumi can tell from the contours of his body that Oikawa’s clenching his teeth shut, jaw line strong and tight. Iwaizumi wants to map Oikawa’s body line by line, curve by curve, until he can memorize all the ridges and hollows Oikawa has to offer.

 “I am aware of that.”

There’s a tension uncoiling in the air between them, tight and brittle, like a sudden movement is all it would take to shatter it completely and release an avalanche of emotion neither of them are prepared for.

Iwaizumi opens his mouth, and closes it.

He isn’t a talker, never has been one, and probably never will be one. He tries to find other ways to express himself, and his true feelings show themselves in every one of his actions, but he  _knows_  that  _it’s not enough_ , and there will always come a time when he will have to put it in words, lay himself out for them all to see, to communicate and be understood.

Now is that time, and Iwaizumi is full of emotions and thoughts he doesn’t have to words to express. 

Now is the time, and Iwaizumi is faced with an unyielding back taut with anger and betrayal, and he can’t do anything about it.

Frustration is all encompassing, and he wants to scream, and he tries.

“Oikawa… Can we talk?”

Oikawa turns around then, face blank and as cold as a stone mask, eyes distant and hard.

“We  _are_  talking. 

Anger comes through then, familiar Oikawa-induced rage.

“Asshole, you know what I mean! I know you’re still angry with me, so goddamnit, stop pretending you aren’t!”

There’s a beat of silence, when Iwaizumi stares straight into Oikawa’s eyes, and for a moment he thinks Oikawa will give in and they can resolve this, but the moment passes too quick, too soon, and Oikawa turns away. 

“Go away, Iwaizumi”

Iwaizumi freezes, acute coldness spreading wintery death in his gut, heat prickling sharp in his eyes.

 “I don’t want to have anything to do with you anymore.”

There’s a beat of silence, a moment frozen in time as Iwaizumi stands there shocked, the clock hands grinding to a halt. 

And then Iwaizumi is there, right in front of Oikawa as he grabs his shoulders roughly and shakes.

“You trashy, idiotkawa!! Don’t say shit like this when you don’t mean it!”

Oikawa’s head flops back and forth like a ragdoll, volleyball dropping from his limp fingers to land on the court between them.

“I do mean it. You’re just deluded.” Oikawa lifts his head up, voice sharp and slicing.

Iwaizumi has memorized all the nuances of the traces which make up Oikawa, knows that Oikawa goes cold and calculating when angry, translates his rage into revenge and seeks to hurt, to damage and injure and  _break_.

It’s a stark contrast to Iwaizumi’s rage, frequent and hot and burning with passion, quick to light yet quick to extinguish, flaring bright like the flame of a fire. It’s all consuming, and blinding.

He needs to get past the wall that Oikawa has constructed around himself, one of hurt and guilt and anger. Oikawa doesn’t want to – as Hanamaki put it – “kiss and make up”, because he’s too busy wallowing in his own misplaced feelings of justified anger and disappointment.

They’ve fought before, but it’s harder, so much harder now that Oikawa isn’t even trying. And that’s what cuts Iwaizumi to the core.

“I’m sorry your girlfriend broke up with you, but you should’ve told me, idiot! I wouldn’t have fought with you if I knew!”

What he means is “Sorry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said those things I didn’t mean.”

And Oikawa chooses to ignore the real message in his words, focusing instead on the superficial outer shells his true meaning comes wrapped up in, brittle and solid and hard. 

“And you  _care_? I distinctly remember you saying you don’t give a flying fuck anymore. Even if you knew, my girlfriend breaking up with me wouldn’t have changed anything. Stop lying to yourself.” Oikawa is staring down at him, and there’s the oh so familiar glint in his eyes, the one that tells Iwaizumi he’s out for blood. 

Iwaizumi ignores that, and hears Oikawa instead. Oikawa at his lowest, yet not wanting to show the slightest sign of weakness, rejecting the simplest shred of pity. Oikawa holding on to the harsh words that hurt him and repeating it to himself, burning it in his mind.

“Just go away.” Oikawa tries to pull away from Iwaizumi, but he holds on resolutely. Oikawa’s words ring in the empty hollowness of the gym, a challenge fissured with uncertainty, testing to see if Iwaizumi really will abandon him. Like hell.   

 “You can’t just tell me to walk away like that, like I don’t mean anything to you or you don’t mean anything to me.” Iwaizumi’s voice is a harsh whisper, shaking fingers curled around Oikawa’s shoulders.

“After so many years of being best friends, and now you want to throw it all away over some stupid fight we had?!”

He’s shouting now, voice curling around his words and setting them aflame to burn in the air between them

“You can fucking dream on, because you and I – “ Iwaizumi brings his face in close to Oikawa’s, so that angry, green eyes lock with shocked brown ones, shining with confusion and anger.

“- will never be over.”

Oikawa’s eyes widen, staring at Iwaizumi wordlessly. 

“ _Never_.”

The last word is a whisper, a breath of air carrying the brunt of his overflowing emotion and the weight of a promise.

Iwaizumi lets go then, and steps back. The ball is no longer in his court, and the choice is up to Oikawa. 

Oikawa opens his mouth and closes it, trembling legs taking a step forward –

\- and falls.

Iwaizumi watches in horror as Oikawa crumples into himself, wrapped around his knee and curls into a ball on the floor.

Iwaizumi thinks he screams, but maybe it’s Oikawa, and maybe it’s neither.

“Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan – “ Oikawa gasps, one hand wrapped around his knee and the other reaching, reaching out towards Iwaizumi and groping blindly,  _needing_  him in this instant of pure horror and pain.

And then Iwaizumi is there (how could he not be?), wrapping his hand around Oikawa’s back and the other fumbling in his pocket for his phone.

Oikawa is a shuddering mess in his arms, face buried in Iwaizumi’s shoulder and eyes squeezed shut, cheeks wet with tears and sweat.

Iwaizumi’s hands are shaking so bad he almost drops the phone twice, the sheer urgency and reality of the situation sending electric tingles down his spine.

“H-Hello? I need an ambulance. My friend, he- he fell, and his knee, oh god, oh my god – Aoba Johsai High School…” Iwaizumi’s voice is shaking, his throat feeling impossibly tight and mouth gone dry with fear.

He ends the call and curls up around Oikawa, shifting to fit against his best friend, making sure he stays as still as possible.

He thinks, then, that it’s possibly the worst time in his life, the endless minutes stretching out into eternity, waiting for help that might never come.

“Iwa-chan –“

“Oikawa – “ 

Oikawa is struggling not to sob, taking in great gulping breaths of air. They’re both trying not to think about what this means for Oikawa’s volleyball career.

“Oikawa… Don’t worry, you shittykawa, it’ll be okay, the doctors will be able to fix you up good as new again…”

Iwaizumi huffs out something that might have been a sob or a sigh, and twice as pathetic as either.

“You  _idiot_...” He mumbles, holding tight to his best friend in the world, even as Oikawa cries into his shoulder.

They stay like that, sitting together on the cold gym floor until Iwaizumi’s legs are starting to cramp up, for what seems like the longest period of time.

The rest is a blur of colour and noise, the wailing of the siren, blue and red lights flashing piercingly bright, white clothed paramedics whisking Oikawa onto a stretcher.

Iwaizumi doesn’t want them to take Oikawa away from him, not so soon, not when Oikawa still needs him. Oikawa hangs onto his hand desperately from the stretcher, and Iwaizumi can read Oikawa’s fear in the lines of his mouth, crumpled at the edges. He squeezes Oikawa’s hand, and doesn’t let go.

He’s allowed onto the ambulance and answers questions on auto-pilot mode, focused only on Oikawa.

“Don’t you boys worry, you’ll be just fine!” One of them says, ruffling Oikawa’s hair.

Oikawa is too shaken up to do anything more than nod and smile, and Iwaizumi threads their fingers together, presses their hands palm to palm. 

Oikawa’s face is sickly pale in the harsh lighting, brown hair plastered limply to his face, and Iwaizumi has to resist the urge to reach out and smooth his hair back, reassure him for the thousandth time that everything will be all right. 

“Hey dumbass, I can hear you overthinking it.” Iwaizumi says, searching his face for signs of pain, stroking his thumb in slow steady circles on the back of Oikawa’s hand.

“Iwa-chan, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Oikawa’s voice is strained and tense, but still maintaining a semblance of levity. He leans in conspiratorially, or as much as the limited space will allow. “Remember what I said? People are always trying to kidnap me and whisk me off to some grand place because they just can’t help being entranced.”

Iwaizumi is relieved that Oikawa still has it in him to crack dumb jokes. He feels himself relax slightly as a smile tugs on the corners of his mouth, and he catches sight of what might have been triumph in Oikawa’s eyes. Weird.

“Grand place of death and despair, you mean.” Iwaizumi notes, then regrets it an instant later when a shadow flickers across Oikawa’s face.

“Hey.” Iwaizumi says, softly, surely, reaching out with his other hand to cup his face. “Hey. I’m serious. You’re gonna be okay.” 

Iwaizumi stares deep into Oikawa’s warm brown eyes, and it seems like everything else disappears - the horrible monitors beeping out their dire rhythms, the whirr of the car engine, the smell of antiseptic… 

Oikawa’s lip trembles and for a moment his eyes screw up, the gravity and reality of his horrible situation crashing down around him. Injuries in sports aren’t lightly overlooked. It could mean the end of volleyball. Iwaizumi doesn’t know if Oikawa will be able to handle that, doesn’t know how he himself will take it. 

“It must be really bad, then, since Iwa-chan is being so nice.” Oikawa says, attempting a smile and half-succeeding. 

“Shut up, I’m always nice.” Iwaizumi thinks back on the last few days and amends, “Only to those who deserve it, though. Who usually aren’t workaholic brats who get themselves sent to the hospital. 

“Aww, Iwa-chan, are you saying I’m special?” Oikawa coos, smug smile now slipping in place on his face, and it looks right, somehow, in a way that Iwaizumi didn’t know he was missing. “I know you love me best.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Iwaizumi gives a helpless half-laugh, caught off guard and suddenly, with a bland sort of epiphany, he realizes that Oikawa is more right than he knows.

He leans his head against Oikawa’s shoulder, trying not to overthink about what it means about his sexuality and  _how the actual hell_  and  _when the fuuuu-_

Iwaizumi doesn’t know if he’s laughing or crying, but he mumbles, softly, probably too softly for Oikawa to catch, resigned and amazed and incredulous, “Yeah, I sure do, don’t I?”

The moment is broken as they reach the hospital, and Iwaizumi reluctantly lets the paramedics wheel Oikawa away, watches as Oikawa twists in his stretcher to stare back at him, then gives him a watery smile and a thumbs up, like Oikawa’s the one comforting Iwaizumi, and not the other way around.

Iwaizumi’s heart clenches, rather painfully.

~-~

A couple of hours pass before Iwaizumi sees Oikawa again, though not for lack of trying. Iwaizumi dozes off and is startled into hissing wakefulness every time he dreams, because Oikawa features in the starring role, and Iwaizumi can only watch him fall….. fall… fall…

The bed Oikawa occupies is clean and white, pristine linen sheets folded around his slim body. Iwaizumi rushes to the bedside and takes in Oikawa’s sleeping face, dimly registering that Oikawa’s parents entering as well.

He takes a deep breath and turns around, bowing sharply.

“Oikawa-san, I want to apologize. I was with Oikawa when he… fell, and I should have been able to stop him before he injured himself so bad, and I might have if we hadn’t had that stupid fight…” Iwaizumi gasps, vision blurring and tears burning sharp in his eyes. His fists are clenched tightly by his side, and he remains with his head bowed, willing himself not to cry, awaiting judgement. 

And then he’s enfolded in a warm embrace and Oikawa’s mother murmurs in his ear, “Oh, Hajime, you know we’d never blame you. This isn’t your fault at all, so don’t blame yourself for it.”

Iwaizumi loses the battle and hot tears leak from the corners of his eyes as he tentatively hugs her back, feeling immensely relieved yet immensely guilty.

Iwaizumi feels so, so lucky that Oikawa’s parents are so understanding, and desperately hopes that Oikawa will be as well.

He lets Oikawa’s parents sit down, and Oikawa’s mother scoots the chair closer to the bed to smooth back her son’s hair. Iwaizumi tries not to stare and wonders why there’s a weird feeling in his chest, right above his lungs.

Iwaizumi stands when Oikawa’s parents leave, with reminders of “Hajime, you really don’t have to watch him the whole night, the doctors said he’ll sleep till morning, at least…” and to “Call me when he wakes!”, he settles in the chair previously occupied by Oikawa’s mother. 

He debates for a split seconding before gently grasping Oikawa’s hand and entwines their fingers together, just like on the ambulance. This time, though, he lets himself card his hand through Oikawa’s hair, marveling at the silky strands and sighing, feeling drained and empty and echoing.

There’s silence again, broken only by the regular beeps of the monitor charting out Oikawa’s steady heartbeat. Iwaizumi takes comfort in being able to hear Oikawa’s continued existence, feels his heart swell with all the unspoken words he never got to say aloud. 

“Oikawa…”

Iwaizumi feels like an idiot, talking to Oikawa while he’s not even awake yet still not knowing how to say it.

“Wake up soon, idiot. I… “

_ needyoumissyouIoveyoui’msorry. _

 

_ ✫✫✫  _

 

Iwaizumi wakes up to the feeling of fingers in his hair, tugging on his tangled locks.

“Ughhh…” Iwaizumi opens his eyes blearily and the world comes into focus, blurry and white and much too bright.

Where is he – right. Hosptial. He grimaces, lifting his head up and immediately regretting it as pain shoots through his neck as it cramps up. 

 _Note to self,_ Iwaizumi gripes,  _don’t sleep hunched over a hospital bed._

Iwaizumi notices Oikawa watching him closely, an unreadable emotion in his narrowed eyes, uncharacteristically silent and moody.  Iwaizumi straightens fully and cocks his head, trying to work out the kinks in his neck.

“Uwaa, Iwa-chan looks like the alien in Mars Incoming right now! The really angry, ugly one that looks like a squashed bull.” Oikawa’s default bright voice cuts the air and Iwaizumi is surprised at how relieved he feels as Oikawa seems over his strange moment of contemplation, huffing out a breath of pent up air.

Oikawa’s smiling at him, softly, not the way he does with his fans or when he’s calculating, but an open, genuine smile. Iwaizumi hasn’t seen it in a while, and he takes a moment to fix it in his memory, a sudden warmth blooming in his chest.

Oikawa pulls on Iwaizumi’s hair again, so he scowls, saying, “They must have drugged you pretty bad for you to look so happy, especially since there’s no one suffering in a ten-mile radius.”

“You mean besides you, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa’s smile grows wider, and Iwaizumi notices how raspy his voice sounds. He spots a pitcher on the beside table and pours a glass, pressing it into Oikawa’s palm wordlessly, fingers brushing together for a moment longer than strictly necessary. 

“Yeah, because staying more than a minute in your presence is definitely considered suffering.”

“Oh? Iwa-chan’s contradicting himself.”

“Am not, idiot. And finish your water!” 

“Says the person which stayed overnight in the same room as me. Voluntarily.” Oikawa says, staring up at him through half lidded eyes over the rim of the glass which Iwaizumi takes from his hand after making sure it’s really empty. 

Iwaizumi quirks his eyebrows at Oikawa, jerking his head towards the water jug, and Oikawa makes a face and shudders. Iwaizumi scowls harder and places the cup back on the table.

“Well, I wouldn’t have to if some stupid  _idiot_ didn’t go and overwork himself fully aware of what would happen if – “ Iwaizumi doesn’t even realize he’s shouting until Oikawa’s heart monitor speeds up, lines on the screen spiked with agitation and the beeping loud and condemning.

The sound snaps Iwaizumi out of his tirade and his rage, and he deflates like a burst balloon, guilt and horror seeping into the empty spaces in his chest where the anger had been. 

A nurse bustles in, frowning, saving them from the awkward standstill. “Please refrain from shouting. Ah, Oikawa-san, how are you feeling? Let’s see now, the doctor should be coming in quite soon to check on you. I’ll go call your parents and inform them that you’re awake.”

Iwaizumi nods sheepishly and mumbles an embarrassed apology, which she accepts graciously before leaving the room. He turns around to look at Oikawa once again, who stares back at him for a moment before he smiles, bright and fake and says, “Ah, Iwa-chan, please do go on with your  _fascinating_ lecture.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t miss the bitterness which tinge his words or Oikawa’s clenched fists, knuckles white with tension.

There’s a beat of silence, Oikawa staring defiantly back like a rebellious child on the verge of throwing a tantrum, eyes screwed up and bottom lip pushed out.

Iwaizumi sighs, giving in and reaches over to uncurl Oikawa’s fingers from their death grip around the sheets.

“Stop that, you’ll crumple the sheets.” Iwaizumi gripes, but still folds their hands together, feeling Oikawa’s long calloused fingers curl around his own. It’s weird, probably, but nice.  _Extremely_ nice. The way forbidden fruit shouldn’t be, but is.

It’s a peace treaty, or at least something along the lines of one.

“The sheets aren’t that nice anyway. They’re all scratchy and thin and it’s  _cold_ ,” Oikawa whines in his signature brat voice, shivering dramatically. Iwaizumi frowns and brings his other hand up to touch Oikawa’s cheek, which is, in fact, cold.

He leaves it there, ignoring Oikawa’s wide-eyed stare and asks, “You wanna ask the nurse to get another blanket?”

Oikawa gives a muted sound of rejection and leans into Iwaizumi’s hand, nuzzling it much like a cat would.

Iwaizumi officially loses the battle on Scold Oikawa For Being A Stupid Jackass, because Oikawa insisted on being An Extremely Cute Idiot. 

Usually Iwaizumi would bluster and shout at Oikawa when he got injured, but it was only because he couldn’t express the jumbled mess of concern and worry and relief that war in his chest, squeezing his lungs and erupting outwards as a tidal wave of anger. 

Iwaizumi doesn’t know how to stop it, hates that Oikawa would just sit there mutely and take it in.

Iwaizumi doesn’t want to shout at Oikawa, not anymore. He wants Oikawa to  _understand_ , to see the depths of his worry. He doesn’t want Oikawa to think he’s truly angry, not when they’re both so worried and tense.

He strokes Oikawa’s cheek gently, thinks their friendship is too far gone for this to be anything but natural (practically living with someone for 15 years does that to you), the silence comfortable.

“Your parents should be here soon,” Iwaizumi says, breaking the silence.

“You didn’t have to stay overnight with me.” Oikawa murmurs, soft. Iwaizumi can sense the uncertainty hidden in the words, woven tight between gratitude and warmth.

“Yeah, well, someone has to look out for you. It just happens that the unlucky someone is me.” Iwaizumi deadpans, but squeezes his hand comfortingly. 

“I bet you were just trying to perve on me while I slept.” Oikawa grins, and Iwaizumi growls, moving his hand from Oikawa’s cheek to his throat, thinking about how  _nice_ it would be to just squeeze, “It’s okay, Iwa-chan, I know I’m irresistible~”

Iwaizumi decides,  _what the heck,_ and pounces. 

“That’s right, I can’t resist killing you since you’re such an ass- !” Iwaizumi breaks off as the door opens abruptly.

Oikawa’s parents fill in, exclamations dying in their throats as they take in Iwaizumi on all fours over Oikawa, both hands wrapped around his throat while Oikawa’s hands looped over Iwaizumi’s neck and pulling him low. Simply put, in a very compromising position.

Oikawa  _smirks_ at him, and heat suffuses Iwaizumi’s face until he’s sure it must have caught fire. He backpedals off hurriedly, ignoring Oikawa’s call of “Iwa-chan, don’t go, things were just about to get  _good_!”, voice shaking with barely suppressed mirth.

He spotted Oikawa’s parents giving each other arched looks and trading smirks, before Oikawa’s mother turns towards him, with the  _same fucking expression_  on her face which usually grace Oikawa’s, and Iwaizumi knows he is screwed.

“Ah, Hajime, don’t let us interrupt you.” She said breezily, though Iwaizumi could tell she was scrutinizing Oikawa and making sure he was really okay. Iwaizumi resisted the urge to roll his eyes. As if he’d actually try to strangle Oikawa just after he woke up from a surgery.

Oikawa was sniggering somewhere behind him, and Iwaizumi  _really really_ wanted to slam his fist in his gut to shut him up, surgery or not.

“Also,” Oikawa’s father says, “Tooru, I didn’t know you like it so rough!”

Oiakwa splutters as his father saunters over casually, ruffling his hair and stage whispering, “Don’t worry, your mom and I are totally not judging your sexual preferences! It’s perfectly all right to have weird kinks! 

Oikawa wails dramatically, yelling at his father and Iwaizumi relaxes slightly at having the attention taken off him. He rubs the back of his head sheepishly, but freezes as Mayumi-san turns towards him. 

“Really, though, Hajime, you should know better than to do it in a hospital bed with security cameras everywhere.” She scolds.

And for the second time in twelve hours, Iwaizumi wants to dig a hole and die because of Oikawa’s mother.

 

~-~

 

“Oikawa-kun, you fractured your knee here and here – see the white lines?” Yamada-sensei motions to the x-ray, and Iwaizumi’s fingers dig into Oikawa’s shoulder.

Oikawa sits still, silent and expressionless as a statue while his parents exchange glances – resignation and regret etched into the corners of their mouths. 

“You play… volleyball, is that correct? Your fracture is caused by over-exertion over a long period of time, and all that jumping around put too much pressure on your knee.” Yamada-sensei pauses and looks Oikawa in the eye, thin framed metal glasses glinting in the light, “I’m sorry, but the damage done to your knee is simply too great.” 

Iwaizumi feels as if all the air has been sucked out of his lungs, leaving a gaping hole where his breath should be.  _Oh god, please no._

“You will most likely be unable to perform strenuous physical activity for at least a few years, without risking even greater damage to your knee.” Yamada-sensei sighs, solemn and stern. “As your doctor, I advice you quit the volleyball club immediately.” 

“You are not fit to continue.”

Iwaizumi bites down hard on his tongue, tasting blood and copper and despair.

 

~-~

 

They return to Oikawa’s ward, Iwaizumi wordlessly pushing Oikawa’s wheelchair as they both stare blankly ahead, lost in their own thoughts. Oikawa’s parents trail behind, whispering furiously.

He helps Oikawa get into his bed and when he looks up, notices Oikawa staring at him. Oikawa looks blank and dead, and Iwaizumi feels much the same. He squeezes Oikawa’s hand once, a reminder, before standing off to the side, making room for Oikawa’s parents. 

There’s a terse, tense silence as his parents give each other  _looks,_  and Iwaizumi wishes they would just spit out whatever they’re going to say. Every second grates on his frayed nerves, one tug on a loose thread would be all it takes to unravel him completely.

“Tooru.” 

Oikawa’s mother starts, awkward and fumbling. Iwaizumi suppresses a sudden urge of anger towards her, because she’s supposed to be the  _adult_ and be able to  _do_ these things, instead of being so  _incompetent_. 

“I’m sure the volleyball club will understand.”

 _No, no, no, no. She’s doing it all wrong_.  _Can’t she see she’s only making it worse?_

Iwaizumi can see it in the thin line of Oikawa’s mouth. The moisture around his bloodshot eyes, sad and empty. The shaking of his clenched fist as his mother reaches out to clasp his bigger hand.

Oikawa pulls away harshly, eyes on the bedsheets, shoulders hunched and trembling.

Oikawa’s parents don’t know Oikawa like Iwaizumi does, haven’t spent hundreds of hours practicing together in the gym, learning to read each other’s actions and words and feelings. 

They don’t know how Oikawa feels right now, don’t have the slightest idea how to comfort him, can’t possibly understand him. They’re only going to make it worse.

Iwaizumi sees the hurt in Oikawa’s mother’s stiff shoulders, the anger in the hard set of his father’s mouth, and all his instincts are screaming at him and going into overdrive because  _they don’t understand._

“I’ll call your volleyball coach to inform him.”

The one thing Oikawa hates most is pity. He can’t stand being thought as  _weak_ , as  _needing_  someone’s comfort, when someone looks down on him. 

Even from his parents. Perhaps especially from his parents, because he’s always had some kind of desperate need to prove himself that Iwaizumi always suspected stemmed from his family.

So really, they shouldn’t be so surprised. Oikawa’s always been touchy at best, and at his worst, the slightest action could be taken to mean the wrong thing.

“You’re already in third year so at least you’re not missing much of it. You’ll even have more time to focus on your studies now - ”

“No.”

Iwaizumi watches entranced, with something akin to horror and exhilaration unfurling in his chest as Oikawa does what he always does and converts his darker emotions into calculative fury. 

The cold, sharp kind of fury which is the exact opposites of Iwaizumi’s, not the bright, short burst of scorching flame but the slow burn of frostbite. Iwaizumi burns red like the sun, and Oikawa is blue like the ice.

 _What do they always say?_ Iwaizumi thinks, somewhat hysterically, and everything is suddenly comical and hilarious and he’s feeling giddy with sudden laughter, has to bring a fist to his mouth to smother it.  _The brightest flame always burns blue._

Oikawa’s rage is tightly controlled and precise, but Iwaizumi can see it burning all the same in his eyes as he raises his head to glare at his mother 

 _Hard and harsh and sharp,_ Iwaizumi thinks.

His mother is taken aback at his sudden interruption, her surprise slowly morphing into the beginnings of irritation.

“Well, Tooru, you heard what the doctor said. There’s no way you can possibly keep playing, so – “

“So what if I can’t play?!” Oikawa cuts her off again, voice icy and hard. “I don’t have to quit the team.”

His father starts forward, mouth opening, but Oikawa beats him to it.

“I spent  _years_ to become the captain! I’m not going to throw it away now! I’m not going to quit the club! I can’t!” Oikawa says, not quite shouting, but the anger is straining at the limits of his control.

“Tooru, do not speak to your mother this way – “ His father steps in, seemingly calm in the face of an absolute meltdown, but Iwaizumi can tell he’s torn between trying to be an understanding father and a disciplined one who won’t take a yelling child.

Oikawa stares at him, and there’s a fire burning in his eyes, his fury so wild and white that Iwaizumi can  _feel_ it, the same way Oikawa possesses a radiant sheen when he executes a perfect jump serve, full of power and joy and pure, untainted exhilaration. 

His face is twists in rage now, and he tries futilely to move with the impediment of his bandaged knee, frustration throwing fuel on the fire of his fury. 

“ _Fuck you!!!”_  Oikawa screams, and to Iwaizumi it’s like the thin veneer of ice holding the scraps of Oikawa’s self-control together has shattered, his words raining down like icicles plunging downwards, aiming for the kill. 

 _“I don’t care what you say, I’m not going to quit the club! Volleyball is a part of me and I’m not letting you take it away from me, so don’t even try! I don’t care if I break every single bone in my body, I’m still not giving it up, ever!”_ Oikawa yells, then pauses, lips curling into a something cruel and cold and  _familiar,_ and Iwaizumi realizes too late what Oikawa is about to do.  

Iwaizumi surges forward, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu as Oikawa has the same look in his eyes before telling Iwaizumi “I don’t want to have anything to do with you anymore.” Oikawa Tooru’s infamous Killing Statements. Iwaizumi knows what it’s like first hand. 

Oikawa sees him coming and his eyes widens, words momentarily forgotten as Iwaizumi claps his hand over Oikawa’s mouth and smacks the back of his head, yelling “Stop it, Shittykawa!”

Iwaizumi hopes for a desperate moment that he’s gotten through to Oikawa, but then Oikawa bites his hand and  _screams_ , and Iwaizumi thinks,  _that went well_ , before Oikawa punches him right in the face.

For someone who broke his knee, undergone surgery and just woke up from anesthesia, Oikawa packs one hell of a mean punch. Pain flares and spikes in his nose and mouth and there is a moment of dull blackness as his vision blurs and his heartbeat throbs deafeningly loud in his ears. 

“You fucker!” Iwaizumi chokes out, reaching out to Oikawa,  _reaching out and not pulling back to punch him, no, because Iwaizumi is always reaching for Oikawa_ , and grabs Oikawa’s face and smashes their foreheads together so that they are staring each other in the eyes.

Dimly, Iwaizumi notes that Oikawa’s cheeks are wet and he wipes his tears away with his thumbs, yelling, “Shut up and listen, idiot!” amidst Oikawa’s cries of “GET OFF ME” and screams of anger.

Oikawa punches him again, and Iwaizumi doesn’t stop him, lets Oikawa slap his shoulders and try with a horrible hurting need to pry Iwaizumi off. But Iwaizumi hangs on tight and breathes through it, saying over and over again “I know, idiot. I know.”

There is a point when Oikawa’s screams of rage dissolves into sobs and broken words, strung together by choked cries and gasps of pain, but Iwaizumi doesn’t know when it is. All he knows is that he’s trying too hard himself not to give in to the burning in his eyes and he’s seeking comfort from Oikawa just as much as he’s giving. 

 Iwaizumi holds him through it all, noticing with detached amusement as Oikawa’s parents leave the room, fending off annoyed nurses who came running at the shouts.

He releases Oikawa’s face, blotchy and swollen with crying and wraps his arms around his shoulders, encircling his back and pulling him close. Oikawa buries his head into the side of Iwaizumi’s neck, and Iwaizumi can feel the trickle of tears drip steadily from his collar down his chest. 

Salty wetness touches his lips and Iwaizumi startles. When did he start crying?

Oikawa lifts his head away and Iwaizumi stares into Oikawa’s desperate brown eyes. Oikawa lets out a breathy moan, face screwed up and Iwaizumi thinks he dies a little inside at the sight. He hates it when Oikawa cries, especially when he can’t do anything about it. 

“Iwa-chan…” Oikawa whispers, and Iwaizumi’s mind flashes back to when they were sharing their deepest darkest secret back when they were six, “Iwa-chan,  _what do I do?!”_

The despair in Oikawa’s words pricks at Iwaizumi, the broken fragments of a shattered rage. The reality of the situation sinks in, right then, and it whacks Iwaizumi full in the face with its devastating consequences. 

Oikawa can’t play volleyball anymore. Not for forever, but… He and Oikawa had been playing volleyball for as long as Iwaizumi can remember. It’s a  _part_ of them. 

 _If Oikawa can’t play volleyball,_ Iwaizumi thinks, horrified all of a sudden.  _What am I going to do?_

Iwaizumi has no idea what the  _fuck_ they’re going to do, but Oikawa is relying on him so he steels himself and tries so hard to say something reassuring. 

“You stop playing volleyball for a while. You don’t have to quit the team, just take it easy. Then in a few years when your knee is all healed, we can continue playing volleyball again, in university, like this never ever happened.” Iwaizumi cups Oikawa’s face, trying to sound strong and sure even when he’s drowning in doubts and uncertainty.

“Got it? Don’t let this fuck you up, idiot. You’re still gonna play again, and be the best damn setter in Japan.” Iwaizumi growls, words heavy with conviction. He forgets who’s he’s trying to convince, but maybe if he says it enough time he’ll start to believe it too.

His words hang in the air, weighing on their minds.

Oikawa leans against Iwaizumi’s shoulder, fingers clutching at his shirt and Iwaizumi runs his hand through Oikawa’s hair.

“This isn’t the end of the world. Don’t treat it like it is, you shitty bastard.” Iwaizumi can taste the familiar fondness of his words on his tongue, and hopes Oikawa hears it too.

“Okay,” Oikawa says, quiet, small.

“okay.”

 

✫✫✫

 

It’s Sunday night when Oikawa is finally discharged. He doesn’t quite walk out by himself, but leans heavily on the crutches, his movement slow and jerky, impeded by the unfamiliar leg brace.

Oikawa’s parents drive them back, and Iwaizumi watches Oikawa closely, but trying to be subtle about it, though he’s probably failing miserably. Oikawa and his parents are still on tense ground, embattled earth littered with verbal minefields that might blow up with a single misstep.

It’s exhausting, and Iwaizumi wonders how Oikawa is holding up.

He sneaks a glance at the front seats, where Oikawa’s parents are talking softly, voices blending into the rise and swell of the radio playing a classy jazz piece. 

“How’re you feeling?” Iwaizumi reaches over to grasp Oikawa’s wrist, catching his attention.

A bitter smile curls Oikawa’s lips, and he says, “Like I broke my knee and then got jumped and strangled by a passing wild dog.” 

Oikawa’s smile turns teasing, and he lowers his head slightly to peek out at Iwaizumi from his eyelashes, “A really big, ugly, wild dog. The hospital’s rules on animals aren’t strict enough.” 

Oikawa moves his hand up to grab Iwaizumi’s and curl their fingers together.  _Oh._ Iwaizumi’s throat goes dry and he clears it, saying, “Obviously, since they let … things like you in.”

“They just have good judgement when it comes to me!” Oikawa says, brightly.

“Really, though. Are you still in pain or anything?”

“No, I took a painkiller an hour ago.”

There’s silence, and Iwaizumi imagines that their joined hands connect their souls together, a red string of fate which binds them together.

Every touch with Oikawa has taken on a new meaning, different from the casual slaps and hugs they shared when they were younger, Before. Now it’s After, after Iwaizumi’s sexual awakening and it’s like danger and desire looming at every corner, at every contact.

It’s exhilarating, and terrifying. Iwaizumi can’t get enough of it, and he wonders if it’s weird. Is it weird to have feelings for your best friend who also happens to be the same gender as you and will probably never return your feelings?

The thing is, Iwaizumi is 100% sure that he is a 100% straight. Until it comes to Oikawa. Oikawa is… different. He’s special. Oikawa is a walking, talking contradiction, and Iwaizumi is pretty sure he has nothing  _straight_ at all for Oikawa, besides his perpetual erection, that is.

“When are you gonna…” Iwaizumi motions vaguely to the front seats, where Oikawa’s parents are discussing something very passionately. “You know.”

“Never.” Oikawa sniffs.

“You live in the same house, idiot. You can’t avoid them forever." 

“Is that a challenge?” 

“Urgh, Shittykawa, you gonna have to do it one day.” 

“…debatable.”

“Besides, you know they only mean well.”

Oikawa shifts uncomfortably, eyes resolutely fixed on the flashing scenery outside.  _Stubborn asshole._

Iwaizumi is disgusted at how fond he sounds, even in his own head.

“They’re trying, too." 

Iwaizumi says, softly, squeezes Oikawa’s hand and is relieved when he doesn’t pull away.

The rest of the ride passes in silence, and Iwaizumi holds on tight to Oikawa’s hand, reveling in their shared warmth.

 

~-~ 

 

Iwaizumi is thoroughly screwed because he has barely started on his mountain of homework, or revised nearly enough for the tests the next day.

It’s 12am, and Iwaizumi just wants to crash and sleep. His bed looks more and more inviting with every passing second.

He shuffles his worksheets, muffling a yawn and sees an envelope on his desk. 

 _Hmm, another University scholarship letter –_ Iwaizumi freezes.

Iwaizumi hasn’t gotten all that many sports scholarships to universities, and the ones that do offer are quite far away and not very reputable schools. On the other hand, Oikawa has received tons of such letters, to the coveted universities catering to the best and brightest.

But now…. Iwaizumi mentally curses, and panics. 

Oikawa’s university scholarships will probably all be retracted. He’ll have to get in through pure merit and grades, like Iwaizumi. 

The thing is, Iwaizumi has been mugging his ass of for the sole reason of following Oikawa. And if Oikawa isn’t going to be going to some hot shot university, then what the hell is Iwaizumi studying for?

Not that Oikawa isn’t a smartass who possesses hella high intelligence (which is really just unfair).

Iwaizumi sighs, cursing the universe for playing favorites and having bad taste (“Iwa-chan, such a hypocrite!”), suddenly aching to see Oikawa’s stupid face even though they’d seen each other just a few hours before.

Now that Iwaizumi has is aware of and has come to terms with his libido and… well,  _crush,_ he feels much more justified missing Oikawa. Not that he didn’t before. 

Despite what people might say or think, Oikawa  _is_ Iwaizumi’s best friend. Which means Iwaizumi  _does_ like Oikawa, and  _enjoys_ spending time with him, and  _misses_ him when they’re apart. Even if they’re separated by one measly fence in between their respective houses.

But now, Iwaizumi thinks perhaps he misses Oikawa more than regular best friends would. He thinks he has always been crushing on Oikawa for the longest time, just that he’s been too dense to realize.

Iwaizumi groans and slams his head against his desk. He really, really should do some revision, but he can’t stop thinking about Oikawa. He  _can’t._ He is  _physically unable_ to.

Man, he is totally whipped.

Iwaizumi glances out of his window by reflex and catches sight of Oikawa’s window. Oikawa’s curtains are drawn shut but his lights are on. 

Oikawa is still awake, huh. Iwaizumi feels giddy and high and worried, like an angsty hormonal teenage girl with her very first virgin crush. Which isn’t exactly untrue, but Iwaizumi isn’t going to go there.

An idea sneaks into his head like a vile pest and refuses to leave, sucking on like a parasite and preying on his weakness because -

Fact: Iwaizumi is reckless when it comes to Oikawa. It’s sort of like his brain short-circuits and logical reasoning is no longer able to transmit good decisions.

Evidence: Iwaizumi jumps out of his window and onto the large oak tree which, very conveniently, spans their backyards and connects their windows.

 _Here goes nothing,_ Iwaizumi thinks, and takes a leap of faith.

Iwaizumi hasn’t done this in a few years, but his grip is strong and sure and he’s crouched on Oikawa’s windowsill in no time. He can still see the remnants of the tree house they built back in middle school, practically destroyed and decaying, and a smile tugs at his lips.

Good days. Good years, actually. Every year with Oikawa has been a good one. Besides this one, what with Oikawa’s knee and the whole Karasuno fiasco. Iwaizumi’s smile slips of his face.

Crouching on the tree and praying no one would look up and spot him, Iwaizumi raps his knuckles sharply against the glass of Oikawa’s window, two short, one long, then two short again.

He stares at the baby blue alien curtains with amusement, mind flashing back to when they used to climb over to each other’s rooms every night and knock on the windows with the same secret rhythm, a password of sorts.

Until their parents found out and had a major fit about it. Iwaizumi shudders at the mere memory, checking the ground below for paranoid parents anxiously. 

Oikawa’s window flies open without warning and Iwaizumi startles backwards, losing his balance on the thin tree branch and flailing wildly. 

“Fuck fuck fuck – “ Iwaizumi chokes out, heart thudding loudly in his ears and for a horrible second, thinks he is going to fall and smash onto the yard below, leaving an Iwaizumi shaped crater in the lawn. There are no branches near and the window is open too far wide for him to grab on –

 _“Fuck!”_ Oikawa joins in on the cursefest, and then there are strong arms wrapped around his torso and dragging him through the window.

Iwaizumi falls into Oikawa’s room with a groan, hand smacking into something hard and sharp causing him to wince but the rest of his body is cushioned on something soft and warm and – Oikawa. Shit. 

His feet are resting on the windowsill, not quite all the way in and he huffs out a wheezy chuckle at the blurry sight of his elevated feet.

“Iwa-chan, what the hell?” Oikawa’s says, voice tight and angry and filled with something Iwaizumi can’t quite place, but thinks it sounds somewhat like horror.

Iwaizumi jerks away reflexively from the breath of warm air that brushes against his cheek, eyes widening and scrambling up hastily. 

“Shit, sorry! Did I land on your knee? Does it hurt?” Iwaizumi rambles, hands roaming over Oikawa’s body to check for injuries. (And if he secretly checks out Oikawa’s lean and supple thighs, well, no one but him will ever know.)

“I think it’s okay.” Oikawa sits up, but doesn’t get back on his feet, face pale and eyes scrunched.

Iwaizumi immediately knows that he’s lying, and growls.

“How much does it hurt?” Iwaizumi asks instead, ignoring the sulky glare Oikawa levels at him.

“Only a little.” Oikawa huffs, crossing him arms. Iwaizumi drops to the floor next to him, careful and wary. “The real question is, since when did Iwa-chan’s balance become so bad that he falls off a tree?”

“I was doing perfectly fine until you came along!”

“You  _knocked_ on my window!”

“I didn’t think you’d take so long to open it.”

“It’s harder to walk when I have to use the bloody crutches.” Oikawa scowls, and Iwaizumi notices for the first time the discarded crutches lying on either side of the window, as if thrown aside with great haste.

The sight of it makes the guilt come rushing back, stronger than before.

“Well, I didn’t expect you to open the window with such force.” Iwaizumi counters. “Open them like any other human being next time, would you?”

“…next time?” Oikawa eyes him speculatively, thoughtful in a way Iwaizumi can’t begin to decipher. Then his mood does a complete one-eighty and he smirks, saying, “Next time, Iwa-chan should just come through the front door like the rest of us civilized humans.” 

“No thanks, not when you refuse to make up with your parents. It’s awkward as heck.”

Oikawa only scowls harder, saying, “You’ve known them, for like, forever.”

“Anyway, don’t you think it’s more romantic this way? I sneak over in the middle of the night to whisk you away and this is what I get?”  

There is a pause, in which Oikawa stares and Iwaizumi realizes too late that he should have gagged himself, because his mouth can’t be trusted around Oikawa.

“Iwa-chan, are you flirting with me?” Oikawa’s still staring at him like he’s grown a second head, wide-eyed and intense, the weight of his gaze making Iwaizumi flush.

 “Besides, isn’t it weird if that I’m here so late? They might think I’m…” Iwaizumi rushes on, trying to salvage what’s left of the situation. 

Iwaizumi clamps his mouth shut firmly, the “making a move on you” going unsaid. Fuck, his own twisted mind is now making everything weird. Iwaizumi really needs to gag himself before he slips up.

Oikawa clearly suspects something, eyebrow quirked up and eyes calculative.

“Oh? Think what?" 

“Nothing!” Iwaizumi’s ears flame red, like the traitors they are.  _Shit._

“Then why – “ Oikawa breaks off as someone knocks on the door.

“Tooru? Can I come in?” Oikawa’s mother’s voice sounds, and Iwaizumi gapes wordlessly before freaking out.

If he’s caught climbing the tree again, there’s no saying what misfortune will befall them, knowing the wrath of their respective parents.

Iwaizumi dives under the bed, scrabbling madly as Oikawa speaks up hurriedly.

“Oh, um, sure! Wait, let me get up first, it’s so much harder to walk now that I have to use crutches, give me a few seconds.” 

From Iwaizumi’s limited vantage point, he sees Oikawa stumble to his feet, leg almost buckling beneath him as he hastily grabs at his fallen crutches. Iwaizumi narrows his eyes.  _I knew it._

“Okaa-san.” Oikawa opens the door, and Iwaizumi winces at hearing Oikawa’s neutral I-am-angry-with-you-but-will-pretend-I’m-not voice.

“Ah, Tooru. How are you feeling?” 

Iwaizumi can see Oikawa’s mother shifting nervously, while Oikawa is still and unmoving.

“I’m fine.”

“I heard loud noises from your room – did you fall? 

“No. I just got frustrated and may or may not have thrown my crutches across the room.” 

“Tooru.”

Disapproval. It’s met with icy silence, and then she sighs.

“All right then. Why is your window open so wide?”

There’s a pause, and Iwaizumi thanks his lucky stars that Oikawa is a fast thinker.

“I miss the smell of fresh, clean air, untainted by the pungent odor of antiseptic.”

“… If you say so.” Shuffling of clothes. Iwaizumi can almost visualize her skeptical expression, but she just doesn’t want to pursue it and risk even greater tensions. “Well then… goodnight. Sleep soon.”

“G’night, kaa-san.”

“Call me if you need anything.”

“Hai, hai~" 

Then Oikawa closes the door and Iwaizumi listens to the echo of her footfalls die away, exhaling in relief.

“Shit, that was close.” He groans, crawling out and flopping onto the bed. “Imagine how much shit we’d be in if she knew I climbed over.”

Oikawa sniggers, carefully leaning his crutches against the wall.

“By the way, why’d you come over in the first place?” Oikawa flops down next to him, and Iwaizumi rolls over to make space with a grumble.

The instant and truthful response of  _“I missed you”_ springs to his lips, but he swallows it down almost as soon as it came, trying not to choke on his words. 

Iwaizumi faces Oikawa, and with their noses millimeters apart, can see the dark eye bags under his eyes, full of fatigue and stress.

“No reason.” He says slowly.

Iwaizumi thinks, on hindsight, that asking about university scholarships would only serve to stress Oikawa out even more, barely two days after he broke his knee. 

It’s something that they’ll discuss, later. Now isn’t the time. 

“Really?” Oikawa’s eyebrow arcs up in a disbelieving crescent. “You just… decided to climb the tree over to my room for  _no reason_ , after not doing it for five years?” 

Well, maybe it was a little obvious, but Iwaizumi isn’t the one who can come up with plausible excuses on the spot.

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi scowls. “I think my brain must be malfunctioning.”

“Uwah, Iwa-chan, what a long word! I’m surprised you know it, considering it’s actually four syllables long!”

“Shut up, asshole!”

“Shh, okaa-san might come running again.”

“Oh, right.” 

Iwaizumi lowers his voice down to what he hopes is a whisper.

“So, are you gonna tell me why you’re  _really_ here?” Oikawa stares, waiting. “When you should be studying for your test tomorrow?”

“Oh,  _shit!”_ Iwaizumi bites out, appalled at himself. How could he forget? 

“I still haven’t finished studied for it, oh god. Urghhhhhh” He drags out, burying his face in Oikawa’s pillow, which smells really nice. Oikawa’s bed is also really comfortable.

Iwaizumi yawns, “I better go ba- baaaack and finish it." 

“You had the whole weekend to study.” Oikawa points out, poking Iwaizumi in the cheek accusingly, knowing full well just why Iwaizumi’s weekend was unexpectedly busy.

“Obviously, I had other things to do.” Iwaizumi gripes, catching Oikawa’s fingers in his own and feels momentarily elated at being able to hold hands again. School girl with a crush, indeed.

“Like what?” Oikawa smirks at him. “Like me?”

Iwaizumi’s breath catches in his throat as he tries not to be very visibly affected by Oikawa’s teasing.

_Yes, like you. I would do you all day long if I could._

“Tch.” Is the extent of Iwaizumi’s repertoire of sassy verbal comebacks, and Oikawa laughs, low and soft and warm. 

It makes Iwaizumi’s heart swell in his chest. It is a sound he’ll kill to hear again. 

“You need to work on your sassy comebacks if you want to woo me properly.” Oikawa turns up his nose and sticks his tongue out childishly. 

“Who said I wanted to woo you?!”

“Just now! You said you were here to whisk me away.” Oikawa whispers. “You better make good on that.”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says, “Okay.”

Oikawa smiles brightly and snuggles closer. “It’s a promise!”

Iwaizumi’s ears burn and he feels so ridiculously happy that he has to turn away so Oikawa won’t see him grinning like a maniac. This kind of happiness is overwhelming and pervasive, and Iwaizumi is drunk on it. 

“My unfinished work…” Iwaizumi grumbles half-heartedly, eyes already drooping closed, yet makes no move to leave. His work can wait. Iwaizumi, for one, is going to prioritize his life love and libido. 

 “Oh, Iwa-chan, I never got to tell you, but the food at the hospital was horrendous! I swear, they don’t feed us nearly enough! And it tastes so  _bad_!” Oikawa rambles on, never seeming to notice Iwaizumi smiling at him, eyes soft in a way that he’d never been caught dead doing.

Iwaizumi rests their linked hands between their faces and wraps the other around Oikawa’s waist, like he’s done so many times before.

It isn’t weird. It’s natural, if bittersweet, and Iwaizumi drifts off to the comforting cadence of Oikawa’s familiar voice, wrapped in the arms of his crush who would never be his.

 

✫✫✫ 

 

“Iwa-chan~~”

Iwaizumi is suffused with warmth, can feel the inviting heat of someone next to him.

“Iwa-chan, wake up.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t want to wake up. He wants to burrow back into the heat and lie there for all eternity.

“Mnggnh,” He mumbles thickly, wrapping his arms around the heat radiator and nuzzling close, throwing a leg over and pulling it towards him.

“Hahhaaa, Iwa-chan, tickles!”

Iwaizumi flinches and is startled into bewildered wakefulness as someone slaps his side, opening his eyes to the spectacle that is Oikawa Tooru, Eye Candy Extraordinaire.

 _Mm,_ he thinks,  _nice,_ about to fall right back to sleep when he realizes that said eye candy is less than two millimeters away, staring down at him with wide brown eyes.

In another person, Iwaizumi would label the expression as fond tenderness, but in Oikawa it’s just one of familiar amusement. Amusement, because Oikawa has an annoying tendency of viewing people as entertainment.

Iwaizumi’s legs are tangled with Oikawa’s, and they’re wrapped so closely together Iwaizumi feels like he’s waking up in the middle of the sun, because Oikawa has an insanely high metabolic rate and gives off heat like nobody’s business.

This would be a very nice thing to wake up to, if Iwaizumi isn’t 100% sure he’s going to pop a boner in the next minute if Oikawa doesn’t get his knee out of  _between his goddamn legs._

“GUH!” Iwaizumi flings himself backwards – or tries to, only managing to crack his skull against the wall and drive Oikawa’s knee harder against a very sensitive part of his male autonomy. “ _GUH.”_

And then it’s like his brain is suddenly working again, because his thought processes are up and running and –

“SHITTYKAWA I’M LATE FOR SCHOOL!”

Oikawa bursts into laughter, clutching his stomach and wheezing with the sheer force of his mirth. Iwaizumi’s fingers twitch at the tempting thought of acquainting his fist rather intimately with Oikawa’s face.

It’s already nine o’clock and goddamnit Iwaizumi is going to be in soooo much trouble. He curses under his breath as he clambers awkwardly over Oikawa, taking care not to hit his injured knee, so focused that he’s completely taken by surprise when Oikawa suddenly sits up.

Iwaizumi falls off the bed, crashing into Oikawa’s crutches and landing in a heap on the floor, groaning miserably.

He  _definitely_ got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning. Heck, he shouldn’t even have  _been_ in this bed in the first place.

“Trashykawa, what was that for?”

“I was going to move out of the way! I didn’t think Iwa-chan was such a klutz that he’d fall over and hurt himself!”

“I’m not hurt, you idiot!”

“For someone who’s not hurt, you’re sure moaning a lot.” Oikawa has his familiar smirk directed at Iwaizumi, who immediately thinks  _oh shit that’s cute,_ before his common sense catches up with his libido and gives it a well deserved mental smack.

“Yeah, in  _pain,_ because some  _asshole_ shoved me out of the bed onto his bloody  _crutches_ when I’m  _two hours_ late for school!” Iwaizumi injects as much venom as he can into his voice as he picks himself off the floor.

“Anyway, see you later – “ Iwaizumi opens the door and runs out, right smack into Mayumi-san’s plentiful bosom.

“Shit! I’m so sorry!” Iwaizumi’s fast reflexes save her from face-planting into the floor, reaching out and steadying her quickly. “Are you alright?”

Oikawa’s mother nods, mentally noting Iwaizumi’s sleep ruffled hair and crumpled clothing, reaching a rather accurate and unfortunate conclusion.

“Hajime! What are you doing here?” She folds her arms and stares, MOM voice at level 108394098.

Iwaizumi freezes, mind grinding to a complete halt, and panics, probably very obviously. Fuck.

“I – uh – we “ He fumbles for an innocent explanation which does not involve climbing the tree in the middle of the night for no reason at all, and comes up blank.

“I came to visit Oikawa?” Iwaizumi swings up in a question, fidgeting non-stop as he glares at Oikawa laughing at his misery and failure. That traitor.

“Oh, you came to visit Tooru, did you, Hajime-kun?” Oikawa’s mother says, sarcasm dripping from her voice, sounding so uncannily like Oikawa that Iwaizumi winces. “When you should be at school this very moment?”

“… that’s right.” Iwaizumi has no choice but to lie down in the grave he dug himself into and hope that death comes swiftly and painlessly.  

“Then why do you look like you slept together?” Oikawa’s mother asks, gaze lingering obviously on his rumpled clothing. Iwaizumi chokes.

“We didn’t! I mean, we did but – we didn’t - !” He splutters, face turning an embarrassing red again. “Gah!”

He turns and flees from the devil and his mother, although he’s starting to reconsider which one is the actual devil. Probably both.

“Iwa-chan, so mean, denying our night of heated passion~” Oikawa’s voice floats from his room, breathless with laughter and tingles runs down Iwaizumi’s spine at the mere sound. He shudders, legs pumping as he thunders down the stairs, and into the blessed silence of the street.

Sighing, he enters his house and readies himself for the interrogation that is sure to follow.

 

~-~

 

“Wow, someone sure is late today.” Hanamaki says later, in the locker room after volleyball practice when they’re all changing. Iwaizumi pulls his sweaty shirt over his head and shrugs.

“I woke up late.”

“By the way, where’s Oikawa?” Matsukawa joins in the conversation. “Why didn’t he come today?”

“Have yall made up?” Hanamaki asked.

Iwaizumi pauses. They’ll find out either way, and there’s no reason to hide it, but Oikawa will probably want to tell them in person.

“Oikawa… won’t be coming for a few days.” Iwaizumi says carefully. “To school. And volleyball practice.”

“What? Why?” Hanamaki frowns, giving Iwaizumi an accusatory stare.

“No, it’s not because of me.” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, then sobers. “Not really, anyway.”

“Wow, did your face really scare him off so much?” Mastukawa jokes, wriggling his eyebrows, “Or did you guys have a wild night yesterday which… put him out of commission and made you late for class?”

Matsukawa’s jibe hits a little too close to home and Iwaizumi flinches, cursing his violent blush. Goddamn Oikawa’s mother for making it out to be much more scandalous than it actually was.

It was more of a cuddling session than anything else. Entirely innocent, enjoyable and PG cuddling. Iwaizumi feels warm all over just thinking about it, and he aches to fall asleep in Oikawa’s arms again.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa gapes at him incredulously for a moment before turning to each other, utterly dumbfounded.

“I can’t believe it! I thought for sure those two idiots would be just dumbly pining for ever– “

“and continue being totally oblivious - ”

“and never even hold hands until they’re both twenty five – “

“and only kiss at forty – “

“and only fuck at – “

“Okay, that’s enough, I get it.” Iwaizumi interrupts, scowling. Their words sink in then and he yelps.

“What? Did you say I like Oikawa? And… Oikawa likes me?”

“Whaat? Noooo. Of course not. We didn’t say anything like that, did we?” Hanamaki widens his eyes at Matsukawa, who nods vigorously, turning to Iwaizumi with a bullshit expression of sincerity Iwaizumi would be able to smell from a country over with wax plugged up his nose. “Nope, nothing at all! Why would you think that?”

Matsukawa’s expression turns thoughtful and he asks, “Do you like Oikawa?”

Iwaizumi frowns at the sudden change in tone, and shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

“Iwaizumi, so romantic.” Hanamaki mutters, and Matsukawa slaps him on the head.

“Like, how much do you like him?” Matsukawa presses. Iwaizumi shifts his weight nervously, the line of questioning veering too close to dangerous territory he doesn’t want to go near a ten mile radius of.

Suddenly realizing you’re gay for your best friend of almost your whole life is not something Iwaizumi feels comfortable sharing so casually, even if Hanamaki and Matsukawa are his close friends.

“I think I’m starting to like him more and more with every second I’m spending here listening to your bullshit.” Iwaizumi deadpans, stripping down to his boxers and quickly changing up.

Hanamaki grins, laying the back of his hand dramatically on his forehead as he swoons and cries, “Iwa-chan, so mean!”

Iwaizumi shudders at how Hanamaki’s voice becomes high and piercing, somehow managing to become a mocking caricature of Oikawa’s typical whine, uncanny and unsettling in its accuracy.

Matsukawa wraps his arms around Hanamaki’s waist, saying in a low gravelly voice, “Shittykawa, let’s fuck.”

Hanamaki gives a high pitched giggle. “Oh Iwa-chan, I love your eloquence!”

They make obscene kissy noises at each other, causing Iwaizumi’s eyelid to twitch in annoyance. He wonders how much force he has to hit them with to ensure they’re physically unable to continue annoying the living daylights out of him.

“Oh, Iwa-chan!” Hanamaki mock groans.

“Ah, Shittykawa!” Matsukawa moans loudly, drawing stares from Yahaba and Kyoutani.

“Iwa-chan!”

“Shittykawa!”

“IWA-CHAN!”

“SHITTY – “

“I SWEAR TO GOD, IF YOU DON’T STOP MOANING RIGHT NOW, I’LL KNOCK ALL OF YOUR TEETH OUT!” Iwaizumi roars, tackling them to the ground violently, sending the bench crashing to the side.

Hanamaki gives Iwaizumi his signature shit-eating grin from where he’s half-pinned under Iwaizumi’s bulk, fluttering his eyelashes obnoxiously and saying, “Iwa-chan… be gentle! It’s my first time!”

Iwaizumi grins suddenly and viciously, all teeth, clenching his fist and drawing it back.

“You asked for it, fuckers.”

A few well-placed punches should be more than enough.

  

Extra:

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Iwaizumi, not there, not the  _balls_ , think of the  _children,_  ack - ”

 

✫✫✫

 

_From: Trashykawa_

_iwaaa-chaaan!!! i’ve made up with my parents! (_   _▰_   _˘_   _◡_   _˘_   _▰_   _)_

 _From: Iwa-chan ~(˘_   _▾_   _˘~)_

_really? when?_

_From: Trashykawa_

_after you left my mum came in and we talked_ _≧☉_   ___   _☉≦_

 _From: Iwa-chan ~(˘_   _▾_   _˘~)_

_good._

_From: Iwa-chan ~(˘_   _▾_   _˘~)_

_told u._

_From: Trashykawa_

_(¬_¬)_

_From: Iwa-chan ~(˘_   _▾_   _˘~)_

_comin over now._

_From: Trashykawa_

_(_   _づ_   _｡_   _◕_ _‿‿_ _◕｡_   _)_   _づ_

Iwaizumi pockets his phone with a grin he tries to stifle, but peeks through anyway.

 

~-~

 

“Hey.” Iwaizumi walks into Oikawa’s room, dropping his book bag unceremoniously to the floor as he hooks an ankle around the open door and slams it closed. 

“Iwa-chan! How was school?” Oikawa grins from where he’s nestled in bed, stretches his arms over his head and yawns.

Iwaizumi stares unabashedly at Oikawa’s exposed stomach, at the jut of his hip bone and the pale smoothness of his navel.

Iwaizumi thinks that all of Oikawa’s little movements and barest flashes of skin must be for the sole purpose of torturing him; Iwaizumi’s not sure how much longer he can go without dying of want.

It scares him, sometimes, the force of his longing.

To  _want_ something so desperately and intensely with his entire mind, yet holding himself back with sheer force of will. 

 _It’s like looking at the menu but not being able to order,_ Iwaziumi thinks dully. 

 _One Oikawa Tooru, freshest product on the market! With gorgeous brown eyes and succulent soft lips, he’s a real deal! Comes with a 10% discount for the single drawback of having the Worst Personality On Earth._  

_Cost: 15 years of friendship and a broken heart._

The price is too high, and Iwaizumi isn’t willing to risk what they have now for the mere  _possibility_ of something better. 

Anything is better than nothing, and Iwaizumi spends so much time with Oikawa it’s almost like they’re dating, besides the whole making out part. 

While that’s something Iwaizumi would  _definitely_ want to have, he’ll take what he can get.

Oikawa catches Iwaizumi staring and smirks at him, says, “Iwa-chan is such a pervert!” 

“As if anyone would want to perve on you.” Iwaizumi says dryly, lips quirking up at the hypocrisy as he settles onto the edge of the bed and cards his fingers through Oikawa’s hair so that it’s sticking up in weird places, simply because he knows how much Oikawa hates it. 

(He also really just likes the feel of Oikawa’s hair running through the cracks of his fingers. It reminds him of how  _easy_ it would be for everything to slip through his fingers until he’s left grasping at nothing.)

“ _Iwa-chan!”_ Oikawa pouts like he’s eight instead of eighteen, looking annoyed and unfairly, ridiculously cute.

Iwaizumi can’t help but grin a bit too, thinks that if this were a shoujo manga he’d grasp Oikawa’s chin and close the distance between their lips and have sweet wild gay sex for the next five weeks.

Iwaizumi quickly dispels thoughts of all the  _what-ifs_  and  _might-have-beens_ before he can drown in the possibilities of an impossible future.

“Iwa-chan, you have a really scary expression on!” Oikawa says, voice too bright and eyes too knowing. “Like a really angry, ugly, scary pig -”

“Die,” Iwaizumi hisses, bringing his full weight down on Oikawa and locking him in a chokehold. “Any last words, asshole?”

Oikawa squeezes his fingers between his neck and Iwaizumi’s forearm, pushing outwards and arching his back into Iwaizumi’s chest. 

Iwaizumi tries not to think about how much he enjoys the feel of Oikawa’s spine pressed against him so snugly, the way it makes his heart beat faster or his breathing hitch. 

Years of doing that damn jump serve has built up Oikawa’s muscles to be pretty darn strong, but Iwaizumi isn’t the ace for nothing.

_The ace. Not anymore, not when he failed._

“Hughhr,” Iwaizumi grimaces and pulls down hard, slowly tightening his arms around Oikawa’s neck until it is evident that Iwaizumi has won and Oikawa’s gasping for breath, sending wisps of warm air over his arm.

Oikawa usually puts up more of a fight, Iwaizumi knows, so he’s surprised and the slightest bit concerned when Oikawa stops fighting all together. He’s about to let go when -

“OW! BASTARD!” Iwaizumi shoves Oikawa away roughly, inspecting the rapidly reddening bite mark on his arm. “What the hell?”

“All’s fair in love and war.” Oikawa remarks smugly, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and baring his teeth in what Iwaizumi  _thinks_ is supposed to be a smile. 

“Asshole, this is neither.  _”_ Iwaizumi scowls, but he’s not really surprised because he’s used to Oikawa’s dirty tricks.

“Oh?” Oikawa tilts his head to the side, calculating, guarded. “I’m pretty sure it is.”

 _Is what?_ Iwaizumi wants to ask.  _Love or war?_

He isn’t sure he wants to know, so he keeps his lips pressed together in what he hopes will be mistaken as irritation.

“By the way, what about your university scholarships?” Iwaizumi asks as flippantly as he can, dragging his book bag to the bed with his feet. 

“Nullified.” Oikawa says, monotone, blank. “Obviously.”

Iwaizumi hums, because he  _does_ know that.

“Anyway, which university are you planning to go?” Oikawa asks, seemingly off-handedly, but the intensity of his gaze belies his interest.

Iwaizumi isn’t quite sure how to answer, because he honestly doesn’t know. He had built his plans around Oikawa’s scholarships, and its withdrawal caused it all to come crumbling down. 

“Ummm,” Iwaizumi rubs the back of his neck absently, remembering too late that it’s one of his “tells” when he’s lying, knows that Oikawa knows it too. Damn that observant bastard.

“I haven’t decided yet. I only got volleyball scholarships to Omori and Roka, but that’s all the way in the Miyazaki prefecture. So, probably not.”

“Iwa-chan’s been studying hard recently, right? Any sort of goal?” Oikawa bites the tip of his pen, strangely persistent.  
  
“No. I’ll do my best, and take what I can get.” Iwaizumi tells him, and that’s true too. It’s what he’s always done.

“Iwa-chan shouldn’t have to settle.” Oikawa sniffs, as if irked by Iwaizumi’s passiveness, but Iwaizumi has learnt the hard way that he’s not talented and sought after like Oikawa.

“What about you?”

“Hmm, I haven’t decided either.” Oikawa says, and Iwaizumi scowls in frustration because now he won’t know how high he should aim. “I didn’t think my knee would give up on me.”

“So, what are you going to do?” Iwaizumi asks, meaning  _are you going to fight?_

It’s a challenge, and a test, but a needless question they both already know the answer to.

Oikawa scowls over at Iwaizumi and stares him straight in the eye, scornful but serious. He blinks once, slow and purposeful, as if Iwaizumi’s question doesn’t deign a response.

Iwaizumi hears him anyway, the  _hell yes_ that resounds in the room, amplified by every shifting movement, every raised chin and every straightened back.

Iwaizumi smiles at him, warmth blooming in his gut like red roses in spring, red and vibrant and littered with hidden thorns.

 

~-~

 

“Are you gonna tell Hanamaki and Matsukawa?” Iwaizumi asks Oikawa later, after the sky grows dim and the sun fades out of the horizon, leeching the world of colour and light.

“Tell them what?” Oikawa asks distractedly, pen still scratching incessantly at his paper, shoulders hunched over his desk.

“Your knee.” Iwaizumi says, setting his textbook on the bed and rolling over to face Oikawa.

Oikawa stills, and Iwaizumi catches the momentary tightening of his fingers before they loosen, dropping the pencil onto the table.

“I have to, don’t I?” Oikawa flexes his fingers and rolls his shoulders, still turned away. “I have to tell the whole team. I have to quit the volleyball club.”

“That’s a lot of “have to”s.” Iwaizumi says.

“Honestly, Iwa-chan. You know what I mean.” Oikawa’s still talking to the wall, head bowed in a way some people might mistake as defeat.

Iwaizumi gets off the bed and swings Oikawa’s chair around roughly, placing his hands on Oikawa’s shoulders.

Oikawa startles in surprise, eyes wide but still strong, chin lifted to meet Iwaizumi’s stare. Iwaizumi loves that about him, his unbreakable pride.

It makes Iwaizumi think that there’s nothing that can stop them from climbing (until they reach the sky, and even then).

“You don’t  _have to._ ” Iwaizumi says, voice low. “You  _choose_ to. You have a choice.”

“It’s not much of one.” Oikawa remarks, trying and failing to act nonchalant, voice trembling with the weight of forced levity. “If I can’t be a good captain, I shouldn’t even be one at all, eh Iwa-chan?”

Oikawa grasps Iwaizumi’s wrists and tugs gently. Iwaizumi lets his hands fall, feels the space between them stretch into an abyss of unspoken words and unwilling confessions.

“You don’t have to quit the club.” Iwaizumi tries again.

Futilely, he knows. He knows Oikawa well enough for that. Oikawa isn’t going to do anything half-assedly, even if it’s volleyball, especially if it’s volleyball.

It means too much to him, to  _them,_ and Iwaizumi can’t bring himself to convince Oikawa to chase after something they both know is already gone.

Oikawa doesn’t reply, only continues staring up at him, and Iwaizumi watches his mouth curl into the beginnings of a rueful smile, slow and sad.

It is answer enough.  

Iwaizumi feels like his heart breaks, then. He sinks to his knees as if the world has been pulled out from under him and sent him tumbling straight down to hell, pulling Oikawa off the chair into his arms, wrapping them tight around his broad shoulders.

Oikawa slides down without resistance, limp and nerveless, as if he’s lost all will to live.

For all of Oikawa’s stillness, hands unmoving against his side, he’s still warm against Iwaizumi’s chest.

“It’s not the end.” Oikawa says tonelessly, muffled into Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “It’s just…”

Oikawa trails off, because they both know volleyball isn’t “just” anything. Volleyball is like the sun, and their entire world revolves around it, planets and stars caught helplessly in their destined orbitals.

And now, Oikawa has been suddenly wrenched away from his place beside Iwaizumi, into the darkness of uncharted galaxies where volleyball will no longer light up his world.

“Of course it’s not, idiot.” Iwaizumi says. “I know. We’re still here.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t know why he says that, as if they’re in some corny rom-com, like it’s the most important thing in the world, even above volleyball, though he supposes it’s true for him, in a way.

 _We’re together,_ he longs to add.  _You’re here._

The tinge of bitterness is still too fresh on his tongue, so he swallows it back, struggling to breathe past the clump of unsaid words lodged in his throat.

Iwaizumi expects his uncharacteristic and probably illogical reply to be ridiculed, steels himself for the sting of it, for daring to overestimate his own importance.

Oikawa shifts in his arms, just the slightest of movements, air moving through his body and emerging as a sigh.

“Together.” Oikawa murmurs, softly, more breath than word, the faint echoes of an unspoken promise.

It sounds like a secret, one only to be repeated in reverent whispers, of hands clutched tight and bodies pressed close.

Iwaizumi shudders, tightens his arms into a wreath of blood and bone, as if trying to cage a bird with injured wings that he has no right to keep. One meant to soar high and fly far, white wings flecked with sunlight and red.

“Who knows? Iwa-chan might even become the captain.” Oikawa says, like it’s a comfort, like it’s something Iwaizumi wants, not when the price is so high.

“You’re still the best damn captain in the whole prefecture.” Iwaizumi growls. “And you know it.”

“Not anymore.” Oikawa says, stubborn as always. His tone tries to turn teasing, falling into the familiar cadence like a safety net. “Anyway, aren’t you going to try to convince me not to quit?”

Iwaizumi sighs, brings a hand to the back of Oikawa’s head to nestle in his brown curls, tugging at the strands reprovingly.

“We both know you’ve already decided, so I’ll just be wasting my breath.” Iwaizumi says. “But I want to, you know?”

Iwaizumi sits up and pushes Oikawa away gently, so he can look Oikawa in the eye.

“There are so many things I want to say. I want to say, “Tooru, don’t go, let’s keep playing together. You’ll toss to me and I’ll spike it like we’ve done so many times before. Why can’t we?””

“I want to say, “Tooru, we’ll climb, and climb, and climb like there’s nothing in our way to stop us. We’ll reach the sky, and the stars, and the moon, and even beyond that.”

“We’ll smash Karasuno and Ushijima to the ground below us and be the winners. I want to win  _so bad_ , you know?”

“Tooru, don’t leave me.  _Stay._ ””

Iwaizumi squeezes his eyes shut, finds Oikawa’s hands with his own and remembers the moment after the Karasuno game when Oikawa brought it down on his back, saving Iwaizumi from himself.

He tilts his head up and opens his eyes, sees Oikawa staring back at him, eyes brimming with regret, and a strange sort of overwhelming emotion he can’t quite place.

Iwaizumi braces himself, bows his head down and breathes.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa chokes out. “I can’t.”

“I know.” Iwaizumi says, the raging wildfire of emotions inside him slowly dying down.

“I want to be captain. I want to lead our team and be  _the best_ at it.”

“I know.” Iwaizumi refuses to let his voice waver.

“I want to  _win. I really really want to win!”_ Oikawa’s voice is shaking and sharp with the force of his regret, of his bitterness and anger and disappointment.

“I know.” Iwaizumi says, soft and tender, learns that the charred ashes of regret tastes of bitterness, and of hope.

“And I  _never want to leave you!”_ Oikawa gasps out, and Iwaizumi closes the distance between them once more, lets the yawning space fade into nothingness.

There is a whirlwind of words inside him, the  _I know_ s and  _I never want to leave you too_ s and _I love you_ s all bursting to come out, thrumming with a frenzied, uncontrollable need.

 _“I know,”_ Iwaizumi stumbles over his words, tongue not quite managing to keep up with his mind. “  _I never want to leave you too.”_

 _“I – “_ Iwaizumi clamps his mouth shut with difficulty, buries it in the crook of Oikawa’s neck, trying to seal it against a secret he has no right to burden Oikawa with.

Oikawa shudders against him, and Iwaizumi imagines he can feel Oikawa’s watery smile pressed against his shoulder.

“We’re so pathetic,” Oikawa laughs raggedly, hands settling warm over Iwaizumi’s back, pressing them closer together, almost as if they can merge into one. “But Iwa-chan, you have to promise me one thing.”

“What?” Iwaizumi asks, already knowing what’s coming, the knowledge a heavy weight in his gut.

“You mustn’t ever let me stop you. Don’t you dare stop playing volleyball just because I can’t.” Oikawa brings his face in close to Iwaizumi’s.

“You’re going to the  _top_. Don’t you  _ever_. let me hold you back.” Oikawa leans back and lets his hands fall, and Iwaizumi watches with pain and regret as he sets the caged bird free.

 

✫✫✫

 

“Did you miss me!!”

Silence falls over the gym so fast and so sudden that it’s like time freezes for a split second, the proverbial calm before the storm and then all hell breaks loose.

“EHHHHHHHH?!!”

“Fuck, Oikawa, what the hell?”

“What happened?”

“Can you still play volleyball?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head and sighs. Trust his team to get their priorities straight.

“Now now, settle down!” Oikawa tucks his crutches under his arms and grins. Iwaizumi is relieved to see that it isn’t all fake.

“Oi, captain, did someone beat you up?” Matsukawa asks, even though it’s not a secret that Oikawa tends to overwork himself.

Like watching a car crash in slow motion. They all knew what was coming, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

“Okay, first thing - I’m not your captain anymore.” Oikawa announces, as if it’s just another insignificant task that he can now check off his to-do list.

Iwaizumi grimaces. There’s silence again, the kind of shocked stupor when something so unexpected sneaks up and smacks you in the face, leaving you reeling from the impact.

Oikawa continues on, pretending not to notice. “That’ll be Iwa-chan from now on, but all of you still better behave yourselves even when I’m not around!”

This is the point when Iwaizumi should step forward and bow, to take up his leadership position with the practiced poise of a politeness ingrained since young.

Iwaizumi doesn’t move. He doesn’t feel like he needs to, like he  _should_ , like he  _deserves_ to.

He’s never been a good actor. Oikawa can pretend that he doesn’t care until he’s weaved a world of lies and half-truths but Iwaizumi fumbles and forgets his lines, curtains closing on the shame of a failed charade.

He doesn’t bother trying. Not anymore.

His teammates are still looking at Oikawa with varying degrees of incomprehension.

Oikawa sighs dramatically and emphasises, “It  _means,_ I’m quitting the club. Officially. Effective today.”

“WHAAAAAAT?!” Chaos erupts and Iwaizumi feels shaky, like Oikawa’s words has ripped the world out from under him. It’s official. It’s happening.

“What?? You’re leaving us?”

“Who’s going to be setter?”

“Because of your injury?”

Oikawa’s getting swamped with questions and Iwaizumi tries to save him from drowning.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough. One at a time.” Iwaizumi scowls his most ferocious scowl and a few of the more susceptible first years quail.

Hanamaki raises his hand and asks, “Quitting the club, as in, not playing volleyball anymore, not coming to practice and not going for camps?”

Oikawa stares at him, eyebrows raised in mock confusion.

“I’m pretty sure that’s what quitting the club means, Makki.” Oikawa’s voice is light, but the underlying bitterness still weighs it down.

“Just checking.” Hanamaki stares at Oikawa for a long moment.

“We’re talking later.” He mouths exaggeratedly, gesturing at the four third years. Oikawa nods easily.

Oikawa fends off a few more questions, but makes it clear that he would never have stepped down if not for his knee.

The team knows, too. How much Oikawa loves volleyball. How difficult it must have been. How hard it still is. The team respects that, and backs off.

“So remember to stretch before and after! Sports injuries are very serious.” Oikawa lectures the first and second years like he isn’t currently bandaged and on crutches, like he’s not a massive hypocrite.

Oikawa’s audience listens raptly, fully taken in, nodding along to whatever bullshit Oikawa’s spouting now. The third years are not as easily bluffed, skeptics of the show.

“Is he gonna stay ‘til end of practice or should we confront him now?” Matsukawa asks Iwaizumi under his breath, careful not to let Oikawa notice.

“I don’t know if he will. We could always meet up for lunch or something.” Iwaizumi replies, and Oikawa turns to face him, their eyes meeting for a split second.

Iwaizumi notes the tension in Oikawa’s shoulders and how his lone good leg is trembling under most of his body weight, without the other leg to help support.

That idiot should still be in bed. Iwaizumi scowls.

“Alright, back to practice!” Iwaizumi barks, herding his teammates away from Oikawa.

Oikawa grins at them, showing off his brilliant white teeth, a picture-perfect smile.

“I’ll see you all around.” Oikawa lifts one of his crutches and waves, then turns and hobbles his way to the doors of the gym.

“Start practice. If I catch anyone slacking, twenty suicide runs immediately!” Iwaizumi orders, not missing Matsukawa rolling his eyes at Hanamaki and muttering “what a slave driver”.

He hurries to catch up to Oikawa, hovering close so that Oikawa can reach out for support whenever he wants, but not near enough to touch. He leaves a sliver of space between them, leaving it up to Oikawa to close it. He doesn’t.

Iwaizumi may have forfeited the stage, but he knows better than to mess up the main performance. If Oikawa wants to act strong in front of the team, then Iwaizumi won’t get in his way.

“You going home?” Iwaizumi asks, stuffs his hands in his pockets and tilts his head to look at the familiar ceiling of the gym. Like he isn’t currently strolling along at an agonizingly slow pace while his best friend huffs and puffs beside him.

“Oh, no, Iwa-chan, I’m going to Shiratorizawa.” The venom in Oikawa’s voice is unmistakeable, the mocking rendition of this oft-repeated phrase souring on his tongue.

“Oh god, don’t bring Ushijima up now.” Iwaizumi groans, knowing that it’ll rile up Oikawa even more.

They’re almost to the door. Iwaizumi imagines it as a finishing line to cross, before Oikawa can get off the stage. Performing is hard, tiring work.

Oikawa slips, his palms slick with sweat and both legs trembling.

Iwaizumi is there in an instant, sliding Oikawa’s arm around his neck and wrapping his own around Oikawa’s waist, holding the abandoned crutches in his other.

“C’mon, almost there.” He mutters into Oikawa’s hair, practically carrying him out of the gym and slamming the doors closed behind them.

The cool air is a smack to the face and Iwaizumi gently lowers Oikawa on the bench outside the gym. Oikawa’s head is bowed, hands clasped together in his lap.

“Hey, shittykawa, the doctor said two weeks of bed rest, no? You shouldn’t be walking around like an idiot. You want to make your injury worse than it already is?” Iwaizumi drops to his knees in front of Oikawa and gently stretches Oikawa’s injured knee until it’s straight.

Oikawa hisses, reaching out and curling his fingers into the fabric of Iwaizumi’s shirt and leaning forward so that their faces are inches apart. Iwaizumi flushes, hopes Oikawa won’t notice what the sudden proximity of their faces is doing to his.

“You have to stretch it, baka.” Iwaizumi growls, slowly straightening and bending Oikawa’s leg again. Slowly, the movements become easier and Oikawa relaxes minutely, releasing his death grip around Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi is both relieved and disappointed. His libido insists on pointing out to him that being between Oikawa’s legs with his hands wrapped around said crush’s thigh is a very, very good position to be in.

His brain commands that he should not look, should not move his hand down and most definitely should not subtly squeeze those impressive thigh muscles -

Iwaizumi, of course, can’t tell between his libido and brain. It’s an honest mistake.

“EEK!!” Oikawa yelps, jerking backwards, blushing furiously. There’s a moment when Iwaizumi just watches unabashedly as heat spreads over those defined cheekbones, slowly blooming crimson until his neck is red, too.

So sue him, but that’s the cutest shit Iwaizumi’s ever seen, and damn does he not regret a single thing.

“Iwa-chan!!” Oikawa splutters, and for once in his life Oikawa can’t come up with words to say.

“What?” Iwaizumi acts innocent, and  _goddamnit he is going to die of diabetes in the next five minutes this is so worth it._

Oikawa gapes at him wordlessly, looking both incredulous and utterly bewildered, as if Iwaizumi has suddenly grown a second head which was now making kissy faces at him.

“Did I stretch you too much?” Iwaizumi asks instead, tilts his head to one side as if he didn’t just make a goddamned innuendo, as if his heart isn’t swelling with the sheer hilarity of the situation.

Oikawa blushes again, no doubt catching on to him and scowls.

“You…” Oikawa tries again, leaning in so his mouth is next to Iwaizumi’s ear, “ _groped me.”_

He says it like Iwaizumi took a Harley and ran over some newborn kittens while laughing maniacally all the while.

“Sure I did.” Iwaizumi bites back the “and damn it was good too” that threatens to sneak out of his mouth, instead opting to continue acting the clueless friend. “I’m helping you stretch, shittykawa, cuz you don’t do it by yourself.”

Oikawa screws up his face and stares hard at Iwaizumi, and Iwaizumi thinks his thought processes are vaguely along the lines of “DID IWA-CHAN JUST GROPE ME OR AM I IMAGINING IT I’M PROBABLY IMAGINING IT BUT I’M ALSO SURE HIS HAND WAS MUCH LOWER THAN IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN-” 

“Hey, have you called your mom to pick you up?” Iwaiuzmi asks instead. He doesn’t think he can keep his giddiness in any longer, not when his heart is threatening to burst right out of his chest.

“No…” Oikawa says slowly, still looking at Iwaizumi weirdly. Iwaizumi stands and looks down at Oikawa with his mussed hair and parted lips, staring back up at him with wide brown eyes.

Iwaizumi can’t help it. He smirks, grin splitting his face wide with amusement and giddy exhilaration.

Almost instantaneously, realization causes Oikawa’s eyes to widen and his nose to wrinkle.

“You’ve got one helluva booty.” He bends over and exhales into Oikawa’s ear, hypersensitive to the way Oikawa shudders and the tip of his ear turns red.

Iwaizumi has a sudden compulsion to bite Oikawa’s ear but restrains himself, if only barely. He’s not stupid enough to cross the line, not right now when he’s so intent on blurring it.

He straightens then, revels in the way Oikawa’s mouth hangs open and unmoving, but Iwaizumi can hear the “wtf” loud and clear anyway.

“Later.” He turns and tries very hard not to strut away, waving a hand casually over his shoulder.

God, Iwaizumi needs to find somewhere to sit and breathe until his heart rate slows back down to a somewhat normal pace. Oikawa is so going to be the death of him.

 

~-~

 

When Iwaizumi walks into the gym, Hanamaki recoils violently and Matsukawa gapes.

“What?” Iwaizumi demands.

“Oh god, did you kill someone?” Matsukawa gasps, actually looking concerned.

“I will in the next five seconds if you don’t tell me why you’re looking at me like that.” Iwaizumi  
scowls, arming himself with a stray volleyball and crushing it between his palms.

“You’re  _grinning_ ,” Matsukawa whispers, voice dropping low in mock horror, “Like really,  _really grinning_.”

Iwaizumi thinks it says something about his personality that to be seen smiling is a sign of homicidal intent. Which, to be fair, isn’t completely off the mark.

“I am actually concerned about Oikawa’s safety.” Hanamaki says half-seriously, pokes his head out the gym doors and whistles.

“Shit, Iwaizumi, what did you even do to Oikawa? He’s just sitting there shocked.” Hanamaki tells  
him, and then his default smirk slides onto his face as he adds, “Plus, his whole face is red.”

Iwaizumi scowls and regrets not skipping out on practice to breathe because he can feel his flushed face turn even redder as the full realization of what he just did comes crashing down on him.

God, what was he thinking, making a move on Oikawa? Was he even thinking at all? Evidently not.

Iwaizumi scowls harder, absently lobbing the volleyball at the ball bin as he wonders when he became so bold. Love seems to do that to you, he reflects. Makes you do dumb shit that you’ll regret later on.

Matsukawa gives him a  _look_ that is probably nc16 because his very existence is r21 and it is  _dripping_ with sexual intent so pungent that Iwaizumi gags. Yuck.

“Get your head out of the gutter,” Iwaizumi snaps instead, closing the gym door firmly. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Whatever you say,  _captain_.” Hanamaki says lazily. “You have my full support if you want to get into Oikawa’s pants.”

“Okay, okay, wait, we might as well clear this now.  _Why_ are you two always thinking that I’m trying to bone Oikawa?” Iwaizumi asks.

It’s something that they’ve been doing for years, practically, since Iwaizumi knew them back in first year. The not-so-subtle innuendos, teasing comments and the lingering stares of contemplation he’d occasionally be subject to. But it has suddenly started becoming less of a trivial annoyance and more of a fear that they’ve somehow caught onto his newly developed feelings for Oikawa.

God forbid those two ever catch the slightest hint that Iwaizumi has any romantic inclination towards Oikawa at all, because there’s a hundred percent chance they’ll tell Oikawa and that can  _never_. as in  _never._ happen.

Iwaizumi isn’t deluded. He knows that Oikawa knowing about his feelings would only serve to make their relationship weird and awkward and that’s something to be avoided at all costs because fifteen years of friendship is much too precious to be gambled upon, not when the result is practically decided.

Because damnit, Oikawa isn’t even gay. He has about a million fangirls whom he flirts with daily. Iwaizumi wants to punch something just thinking about it. Oikawa used to flirt with Iwaizumi, too, but suddenly stopped a while back for reasons Iwaizumi still isn’t privy to.

Iwaizumi knows this, so he’s real about the fact. The fact that his very love is forbidden, frowned on by society. The fact that he can’t ever tell the person he loves about his feelings.

The fact that Oikawa Tooru won’t ever love him back.

He isn’t going to sugarcoat things and build a world of half-truths and false hopes only for it to be brutally torn apart later. He isn’t going to sit around waiting for rejection. He’s going to treasure every last minute he gets to spend with Oikawa, laugh with him and cry with him, and when the time comes to let him go, Iwaizumi will not be the anchor, no, he’ll watch Oikawa walk away with his head held high, see if he doesn’t.

So it’s essential that Oikawa does not know. Ever. Damned if he lets Hanamaki and Matsukawa screw this up.

“So?” Iwaizumi prompts, crossing his arms and leveling them with his scariest glare, which unfortunately has no effect. Two years of daily interaction seems to have inured them. Damn.

“Well…” Matsukawa drags out, scratching at the curve of his neck, side-eyeing Hanamaki. “It’s obvious, you know.”

Iwaizumi’s stomach drops to somewhere 2189437km below sea level. He hopes he doesn’t look as shocked as he feels because that would instantly be a dead giveaway.

“Hah?” Iwaizumi arches his eyebrows and totally pulls off an expression of mild-confusion-and-nothing-more, because Hanamaki suddenly jumps in, saying, “Because the two of you are perfect for each other, duh!”

Iwaizumi does not miss Hanamaki jabbing his elbow into Matsukawa’s ribs, giving him an annoyed look, which is definitely a first because those two are usually so in tandem and on the same side that it’s easy to forget that they disagree sometimes, too.

Iwaizumi is still a little confused, and thinks that he’s not quite getting it, but has to consciously refrain from looking overly relieved. Thank god they aren’t onto him.

Although that does bring up some disturbing questions about what, exactly, Matsukawa meant.  _What_ was obvious?

“Don’t be dumb. Why would you even think that?” Iwaizumi scowls, searching for stray volleyballs to lob at their stupid heads.

“I mean, you obviously like each other.” Matsukawa puts his hands up in surrender, but his eyes are locked on Iwaizumi and too full of some secret, heavy knowledge that leaves Iwaizumi feeling confused, as if he’s left out of some big secret that everyone knows but him.

He has seen the same knowing look reflected in Hanamaki’s eyes, Oikawa’s eyes, and heck, even Oikawa’s mother’s eyes. His gut instinct tells him that it’s important, that it is life-changing, that he  _needs_ to find out. Thing is, he doesn’t know how.

“Yeah, dude, you’re always together. I mean  _always._ You walk to school together, have lunch together, have volleyball practice together, walk home together,” Hanamaki ticks them off his fingers as he talks, then raises his eyebrows at Iwaizumi. “And apparently, sleep together too.”

“You’ve known each other for ages. Which is, totally cool, because you guys get each other so well.” Matsukawa shakes his head in amazement, looking vaguely jealous. Iwaizumi notes the way Matsukawa absolutely does not look at Hanamaki when he says this.

Iwaizumi snorts. “That’s rich, coming from you. You and Hanamaki practically read each other’s minds all the time. If Oikawa and I are perfect for each other, then you two are a frikin’ match made in heaven.”

Matsukawa coughs awkwardly and Hanamaki scrapes the tip of his shoe on the floor. Apparently Iwaizumi isn’t the only one around with love life issues.

“I mean, you obviously like each other.” Iwaizumi parrots Matsukawa’s words back at him, feeling inordinately pleased when Matsukawa glares darkly at him and flips him off. He can play matchmaker, too. Those two really need to get it together.

“And, you’re always together. I mean  _always._ I bet you two sleep together too – “ Iwaizumi is cut off abruptly when Hanamaki lunges forward and grabs his collar, hauling him to the court.

“Now, now, captain, don’t you have a team to oversee instead of wasting your time gossiping?” Hanamaki says loudly, despite the fact that he’s red in the face with embarrassment.

Iwaizumi counts it as his win and doesn’t even protest at being manhandled, although he does draw the line when Hanamaki and Matsukawa try to throw him into the dumpster.

 

✫✫✫

 

It’s a week later before Oikawa is able to walk without his crutches. Iwaizumi is glad of it; Oikawa had been alternating between being extremely frustrated and extremely sad.

Seeing Oikawa like that did strange things to Iwaizumi’s rational thinking, or rather, making it a _lack of rational thinking_.  

Iwaizumi rolls over on his bed and picks up his phone, opening the chat Oikawa has titled “ _seijō third years_ _ヽ_ _(_ _๏_ _∀_ _๏_ _)_ _ﾉ_ _”._

 

_Iwaizumi: wanna go Katane bakery to celebrate Oikawa off crutches? The milk bread there is one of the best._

_Trashykawa: oHHH YES!! iwa-chan are you treating_ (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ 

_Hanamaki: yeah, iwa-chan, are you treating?_

_Iwaizumi: only oikawa._

_Matsukawa: bro that’s so unfair_

_Trashykawa: suck it up mattsun, iwa-chan loves me best_

_Matsukawa: is this like best friend privilege or smth_

_Hanamaki: nah if it was you’d have to treat me too_

_Matsukawa: good point maybe they’re… more than friends ;))_

_Iwaizumi: die._

_Iwaizumi: also, then the both of you should treat have to each other_

_Trashykawa: wait wHAT did makki and mattsun finally get together?_

_Trashykawa: also, iwa-chan make em run extra 20 rounds during practice_

_Iwaizumi: good idea._

_Matsukawa: WAIT WAIT OIKAWA I WAS JUST KIDDING_

_Matuskawa: and fyi no im still single and eligible ;))_

_Trashykawa: too late mattsun_ （￣へ￣）

Iwaizumi’s phone vibrates and “Call from: Trashykawa” pops onto his screen. He moves on autopilot and accepts the call, pressing the phone to his ear. 

“Uwaa~ Iwa-chan must miss me a lot to pick up on the first ring!” Iwaizumi feels a smile tugging on his lips, insistent and soft in a way that’s slowly becoming familiar.

“I was typing, idiot. My finger accidentally pressed accept.” Iwaizumi grunts into his phone, getting out of his bed and throwing his curtains open in hopes of catching sight of Oikawa.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary, since they usually wake about the same time and sometimes make rude gestures at each other (mainly on Iwaizumi’s side).

Oikawa is standing at his open window, staring at Iwaizumi, hair mussed from sleep and phone tucked snugly between his ear and shoulder.

Iwaizumi’s eyes inadvertently trace the smooth curve of Oikawa’s neck and he wants to reach out and across the empty space to close the distance between them.

Oikawa is an actual model and it’s just unfair that someone can be so pretty, even with horrible bedhead and pants with stretched elastic hanging too low on his hips.

Iwaizumi breathes deep, curls his fingers into the scratchy cloth of the curtain, reminds himself not to take what he can’t have.

And then Oikawa throws up a peace sign and grins at him, bright and happy and blinding in a way that makes Iwaizumi’s lungs constrict and breath hitch. _Oh._

It’s not unpleasant, but it’s definitely a strange feeling.

Like the love-struck idiot he is, Iwaizumi just stares and forgets to give Oikawa his customary middle finger.

There’s silence on the other end of the phone and Iwaizumi brings his stare back upwards to a more decent part of Oikawa’s anatomy.

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa’s voice crackles into his ear with a shakiness that Iwaizumi puts down as static.

Iwaizumi doesn’t trust himself to speak, not with this tangled ball of want and bitterness clogging up his throat, the splinters of his self-control prickling sharp in his eyes. 

“I’m going to climb over.” Oikawa says then, and Iwaizumi hears him just fine without the phone, because Oikawa _announces_ it, strong and sure in a way that’s all at once achingly familiar and too loud in the still morning air. 

“Wait, no –“ Iwaizumi starts to say, but Oikawa ends the call and tosses the phone behind him, starting to climb out. 

That _idiot._ He just got off crutches, he definitely shouldn’t be climbing trees.

Iwaizumi throws his phone down and jerks his window open, practically throwing himself out with a haste that he knows is overdone, watches as Oikawa lowers himself on the tree branch and moves in spurts, all broken up by pain but driven on by sheer pig-headedness. 

“Oikawa!” Iwaizumi hisses, the tree flaking away under his hands, pieces of rotten bark spiraling down to the ground.

Oikawa is backlit by the early morning sun, bathed in a golden glow that softens all his sharp edges, and Iwaizumi is momentarily blinded. 

Oikawa looks up and grins at him, like they’re seven and sharing some silly, exciting secret in this frozen pocket of time, where the air is still and silent, every one of their movements rippling outwards in a wave of purpose and strength.

Oikawa stands shakily on the branch and braces himself against the side of his house, palms pressed flat against the solid structure. He turns to look at Iwaizumi, brings one hand away from the wall and holds it out to him, fingers curled out open and inviting.

This time, it’s not a gesture of uncertainty, of underlying doubts which cracks Oikawa open to reveal this rarely seen naked vulnerability. There is strength in the line of his spine, shoulders shifted back into something sure, outstretched hand searching for hope and something just beyond his reach.

Grasping out at nothing, but Iwaizumi steps forward and presses his fingers into the empty spaces between Oikawa’s, wrapping his arm around Oikawa’s waist to steady him, to remind him.

“I’m here,” Iwaizumi says, but doesn’t. It’s passed along in every press of their palms,

_(I’m here.)_

every shared exhale and

_(I’m here.)_

every wandering graze of nimble fingers, lingering too long in the touch.

_(I’m here.)_

Iwaizumi watches the slow furl of Oikawa smile, feels a shivering burst of warmth bloom in his chest and spread to his face.

_(I love you.)_

Oikawa is beautiful and here and _his_ , if only for a moment, and Iwaizumi wants to keep this moment frozen in time, to _keep_ and never let go.

And then Oikawa is leaning in slowly but surely, breath ghosting warm and hesitant over Iwaizumi’s lips, and Iwaizumi knows in that moment that Oikawa is going to kiss him.

_(I want you.)_

It is this fierce and all-consuming longing which scares him, throws fuel on the simmering fear of his doubts and it flares up again, burning Iwaizumi and he flinches away violently as if scorched.

Like a moth drawn to flame and flying too close, it will only end up in the bitter ashes of an unrequited love.

_(I’ll only hurt myself.)_

He sees the hurt in the momentary tightness around Oikawa’s eyes, shining with betrayal, face screwed up as if he might want to cry, but won’t.

_(I never meant to hurt you.)_

“What is it?” Oikawa asks him, but it sounds more like a demand, more like a plea.

Iwaizumi doesn’t even begin to know how to respond to such a question, but he knows it’s important that he tries.

“Oikawa, I just don’t – “ Iwaizumi isn’t sure what he’s going to say, doesn’t know how to explain that _i don’t want to hurt you, don’t want to hold you back, don’t want to hurt myself -_ so he supposes it’s just as well that Oikawa suddenly cuts in, voice sharp and slicing, but brittle in its hardness.

“Don’t.”

_(All broken up, jagged edges and shattered glass.)_

Iwaizumi has a vague feeling that he’s making some huge mistake and there must’ve been some miscommunication along the way because Oikawa looks like he’s just been torn apart, but still struggling to keep it together. 

( _What did he do what did he say why does Oikawa suddenly look so broken how does he FIX this??)_

_(He can’t.)_

“No, listen to me! I don’t – “ Iwaizumi tries again, scrunches up his face, trying desperately to think of how to phrase it whilst still keeping his feelings a secret 

(He doesn’t know, can’t _express_ himself, and something is horribly, terribly wrong, but he can’t quite _fix_ it because Oikawa isn’t listening and he can’t _talk.)_

Their hands are still clasped, and Iwaizumi is torn being wanting to hold on tighter and letting Oikawa go. 

(He notes, dimly, that Oikawa’s hand has curled into a trembling fist around his, and he isn’t sure if it’s just anger or Oikawa’s trying to hold on tighter, too.)

Some of it must have shown on his face, because Oikawa’s face contorts again and he moves away suddenly, trying to pull his hand away with a frigid fury that wasn’t there before.

_(I don’t want to hurt you.)_

Iwaizumi’s grip loosens slightly, allowing Oikawa his movement, but he can’t quite bring himself to let go.

(Oikawa is shaking, in spurts and shivers, and Iwaizumi wants to pull him close and hold him tight until everything is better. Wants, but he can’t, so he won’t. That’s all there is to it.)

“Oikawa, what…” Iwaizumi stops short, not knowing how to articulate the whirl of emotions inside of him.

“Let me go.” Oikawa isn’t looking at him; he’s looking past Iwaizumi, half-turned away in an interrupted effort to leave.

( _leave leave leave leave Oikawa is going to leave him, walk away and never look back.)_  

Oikawa tugs again, and it’s just like all the scenarios Iwaizumi has imagined when Oikawa walks away, but in his head, Iwaizumi does nothing. Stands still, and watches in silence. 

 _(No,_ Iwaizumi thinks, selfishly, helplessly. _I won’t. I won’t let you go, I won’t, I won’t.)_

But then Oikawa’s fingers slip out from Iwaizumi’s limp hand, and Oikawa pauses, briefly, body still facing away and all ready to leave, but Oikawa still turns to look at Iwaizumi, his expression at war with itself, as if he doesn’t quite know how to feel. 

( _Turning back. He’s turning back to look at Iwaizumi. Why is he turning back?)_  

There is sadness, definitely, and anger. Oikawa’s eyes have always been beautiful, but now they’re dimmed with a kind of emotion too overflowing and brimming with a knowledge too earthshaking.

(Iwaizumi thinks it’s like watching the world burn around him and yet not knowing how to put out the flames.)

Then Oikawa turns, and he’s trembling all over from – pain? Is his leg acting up again? Iwaizumi shifts so that he can catch Oikawa if he should fall, but Oikawa hauls himself through his window and closes it behind him, yanks the curtains shut with a rigid finality that carves its way right into Iwaizumi’s heart.

_(Took my heart… and broke it.)_

Iwaizumi sinks downwards, crumbling in upon himself, and the world spirals into a whirlwind of bitter ashes he was too late to save.

( _Too late, he’s gone, gone forever.)_

 

✫✫✫

 

The next day is a Saturday, which means Iwaizumi doesn't set an alarm, fully intending to sleep until noon.

Of course, he doesn't get to.

He's woken up by an incessant banging on his bedroom door, and he doesn't even have time to blink the sleep out of his eyes before the door is flying open and Oikawa is strolling in like he owns the room, familiar cocky smirk plastered across his stupid face.

His very attractive, pretty, stupid face. Goddamnit.

"Iwa-chan! I knew it, you’re still lazing in bed oh my god." Oikawa smiles, but his grin just rubs Iwaizumi the wrong way even half-asleep, because there's definitely something off, and it's forced and fragile and all the things Oikawa usually isn't with Iwaizumi.

There's something wrong, but Iwaizumi isn't currently in possession of the necessary mental capabilities to analyze just what yet.

"Guh." He responds intelligently, rubbing at his eyes blearily as his brain starts to work again.   

Wait - why was Oikawa in his room? - after he had fled so hurriedly the day before?

There's something weird going on, and Iwaizumi is going to find out what.

This isn't behavior typical of Oikawa, who holds grudges close to his heart and isn't one to forgive and forget.

Iwaizumi is surprised Oikawa is even talking to him, much less bursting into his room with too much energy at eight bloody a.m. in the morning.

Oikawa walks over to his bed, but Iwaizumi can't help but note the foot of space that Oikawa leaves between them. It drives him mad, thinking about how Oikawa would usually pounce on him and try to push him out of the bed any other morning.

Although he would shout and hit Oikawa for it, Iwaizumi finds himself desperately wishing that Oikawa would do it again, just so that his being here wouldn't feel so weird, with this - this tense, brittle space stretched taut between them, a momentary peace liable to shatter any moment.

Oikawa leans over him, hands on his hips, says with a smile too bright to be genuine and voice too light to be natural, "Iwa-chan, hurry and get up! We're meeting Makki and Mattsun in half an hour, remember?"

Iwaizumi has totally forgotten about their scheduled meeting but instinctively replies, "Yeah, yeah, I was just about to get up before you came bursting in."

Some emotion too shadowed for Iwaizumi to read flickers across Oikawa's features, and his face momentarily darkens before brightening again, and he talks in the same voice, careful and fake in a way that has Iwaizumi frowning, "Quickly, it'll take at least ten minutes to walk to the bakery."

(Oikawa also didn’t call Iwaizumi out on his lie, which is strange. Definitely strange.)

Once again, the lack of the previously ever present physical contact unnerves Iwaizumi and he sighs, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and standing up.

"I'll wait for you downstairs." Oikawa says, turning to leave, and his sudden movement reminds Iwaizumi of the day before, jarring and painful enough that Iwaizumi's hand shoots out, locking around Oikawa's wrist.

There’s a moment when they stand there in silence, Oikawa halting his steps but not quite turning back and Iwaizumi trying and failing to formulate a complete sentence.

What would he say? _Why did you try to kiss me yesterday? Why did you leave? Was it something I said? Something I did? - and why are you acting like nothing's happened?_

"Yes?" Oikawa turns back, and Iwaizumi sees his smile, unnatural and even more strained than before.

To Iwaizumi, it's like Oikawa is stretching the bounds of his limits, trying to see how much he can push before he shatters.

Oikawa's already done that with his knee, and it screwed up his volleyball career. Iwaizumi isn't going to let him screw up anything else because of his stubbornness, not if he can help it.

Iwaizumi also feels guilty for what happened yesterday, and even though he's still confused and worried, he knows he must have done something wrong to elicit such a strong reaction.

"Remember what I told you, Shittykawa," Iwaizumi says, throat going dry and feeling like sandpaper, his words rough and chafing at the tense atmosphere. "Don't smile if you don't mean it."

"I can take your scowls or shouts, but I hate it when you pretend to be happy when you're obviously not."

"Got it?" Iwaizumi's fingers press tighter against the protruding bones of Oikawa's thin wrist, holding tight but not quite daring to pull any closer.

Oikawa's fake smile freezes, then seems to fragment, cracks splitting the line of his mouth before shattering completely, caving in on itself.

There's a moment when Oikawa looks broken, but then he pulls himself together again, smoothing his expression into a practiced blank mask, eyes cold and unreadable and so very far away.

Iwaizumi scowls and reaches out with his other hand to cuff Oikawa's head, a wordless reminder of his words.

(He also just really, really wants to hit Oikawa. Anything to get rid of that blank, emotionless look, not when he knows the depths of the sea of feelings Oikawa harbors behind it.)

For a moment, Iwaizumi thinks Oikawa will retreat and close up, reject his attempts to re-establish some semblance of normalcy, so he's surprised when Oikawa gives in.

Oikawa sighs and smiles crookedly, barely noticeable, the slightest upward tilt of one side of his mouth, but there nonetheless.

Iwaizumi has to resist the urge to exhale explosively in a tidal wave of relief, because it'll be too uncharacteristic, too telling, if he does.

He settles for smiling back, feeling his features melt into a warm smile, feeling all gooey and mushy and horribly terribly sappy inside.

God, the things this idiot does to him, without Oikawa even realizing.

 

~-~

 

By the time they get to Katane bakery, they're ten minutes late, which isn't a surprise in and of itself because Oikawa isn't exactly known for his promptness when it comes to anything informal.

"Fashionably late," He likes to say, and Iwaizumi likes to kick him in his back for being such a pretentious asshole.

"Sorry, sorry!" Oikawa says to Hanamaki and Matsukawa once they've settled into their seats, proceeding to order  excessive amounts of milk bread.

Matsukawa and Hanamaki stare.

"Dude, I hope you're paying for that all by yourself. I'm totally broke." Matsukawa tells Oikawa solemnly, holding up his sadly empty wallet as proof. "I'll just sit here and watch you eat."

"As if I'd share my precious milk bread with someone like you." Oikawa sniffs. “All of you can get your own.”

There's a pause, in which Hanamaki and Matsukawa turn towards Iwaizumi with an anticipation born of years of experience, but nothing happens.

No scathing rebuke, no sharp cuff, no nothing.

Iwaizumi is staring out of the window, fingers drumming absently on the polished wood table, not paying attention in the least to their bantering.

"Yoohoo Iwaizumi, you there?" Hanamaki waves his hand in front of Iwaizumi's face, and Iwaizumi startles.

"Yeah, yeah." Iwaizumi replies hastily, glances at Oikawa with a forced casualness that doesn't bluff any of them.

Oikawa shifts slightly, and Iwaizumi notices that he's tense, shoulders hunched under the weight of a secret Iwaizumi doesn't know.

Iwaizumi also notices how Hanamaki and Matsukawa look at Oikawa knowingly, and also - sympathetically? Sadly? Iwaizumi can't tell.

He's still completely left in the dark, and he hates it. He doesn't know what's going on with Oikawa, and after years of knowing all Oikawa's secrets inside out, it's something new, something strange, something... worrying.

When had Oikawa stopped confiding in him?

Iwaizumi thinks he might be overthinking it, but he's starting to feel sick, as if all the swallowed emotions are currently festering in his gut, a writhing mass of frustration and hurt.

"Washroom." Iwaizumi grunts, breaking the - awkward? - silence and leaving the table.

At this point, Iwaizumi knows that if he lets go another time, Oikawa will really slip from his grasp and he'll never get Oikawa back.

 _Not today_ , he tells himself firmly  _. I'm not going to let him go today._

Well, not tomorrow, or the day after, or months later, either.

One day, maybe, but not today.

He'll just have to keep going, keep chasing and never let go.

When Iwaizumi gets back, the food has arrived and Iwaizumi's black coffee is there waiting for him.

(Yes, Iwaizumi drinks his coffee without sugar or milk. A direct contrast to Oikawa who consumes ungodly amounts of sugar on a daily basis.)

The three of them at the table seem to be in deep conversation, and Oikawa looks maybe a little sad, a little weary, but when he looks up to smile at Iwaizumi, it's small but genuine.

It's a start.

Iwaizumi can't help but smile back, soft in a way that's reserved entirely for Oikawa, and it's like they've connected again and everything will be okay - then Oikawa turns back to the table and Iwaizumi sits down and that connection lost in transit.

They're sitting close enough that their knees bump together occasionally, and Iwaizumi can feel the heat of Oikawa's leg through the thin cotton of his pants.

It's not a big booth, but it's not exactly small, either, just not built for accommodating two bulky athletic adolescent boys.

And then Oikawa moves his leg away, subtle but not nearly discreet enough that it escapes Iwaizumi's notice.

It feels like a rejection, even though Iwaizumi tells himself there are a thousand reasons Oikawa could have shifted, all not related to him so stop being such self-absorbed lovesick idiot.

For a lack of anything better to do, Iwaizumi takes a sip of his coffee and promptly spits it all back out.

"What the actual fuck?" He shouts, probably much too loudly than politeness dictates as heads swivel over to look at him.

Oikawa laughs, and Matsukawa and Hanamaki smirk at him.

Iwaizumi lunges at Oikawa and grabs his collar, practically on top of him, uncaring of the many eyes trained on his back.

“Fuckwad, ruin my coffee, why don’t you?” Iwaizumi growls, shaking him roughly. “You owe me another one.”

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa’s trying not to laugh in an effort to look innocent, which is largely ineffective on all three of them. He simply manages to look even cuter, if possible. “How’d I know you don’t like sugar with your coffee?”

“You dumped the whole fucking pot in!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“I was just trying to help.” Oikawa lowers his head coyly and peers up at Iwaizumi behind his unfairly long eyelashes.

“Spare me your bullshit.” Iwaizumi tells him, mimes gagging while trying not to be caught staring at Oikawa’s face, notes how Oikawa looks at him with that weird sideways glance he’s been aiming at Iwaizumi all morning.

They are approached by a waiter who tells them to tone it down or they will be “forcefully ejected from the bakery” and Iwaizumi stutters out an apology, kicking Oikawa’s leg hard under the table because  _that asshole would not stop laughing._

Later, they walk back home together, and Iwaizumi is really, really glad that their houses are so near because it means that they go everywhere together.

“Homework at my house?” Iwaizumi asks Oikawa when they’ve reached, and it’s nothing out of the ordinary because Sundays are usually spent at Iwaizumi’s house struggling to complete the vast amounts of assignments third year dumps onto them.

It is, however, out of the ordinary when Oikawa pauses, pretends to consider and exclaims, “Oh, I forgot! I’m busy today, sorry.”

“Busy with what?” Iwaizumi asks him, because he’s one hundred percent sure Oikawa hasn’t got anything on today unless he has specially arranged something without telling Iwaizumi. Which Iwaizumi  _thinks_ isn’t very likely.

“This and that,” Oikawa says vaguely, tries to cover up his evasive response with a blinding smile, fake and white and shiny.

Oikawa turns to leave, but the words “ _not today”_ flash across Iwaizumi’s eyes and for the second time in three hours, he reaches out to stop Oikawa by a hand around the wrist.

“Oi, trashykawa, you’ve been weird all day. What’s up?”

Oikawa turns around easily, waves his question off with a jovial nonchalance that grinds on Iwaizumi’s nerves, because Oikawa can talk himself in circles with excuses but ultimately he’s still shutting Iwaizumi out, out of the life he’s been an unmovable constant in for the last fifteen years.

Completely unacceptable, and yet when Oikawa gets all stubborn like this there’s damn near nothing that’ll make him change his mind.

“Maybe I’m just tired today,” Oikawa is getting impatient, irritation wrinkling the lines of his mouth, hardening his eyes.

"Why won't you talk to me?" The words are out of his mouth before Iwaizumi can stop them, and he hates how he sounds desperate and pleading and all the things he usually isn't, but is.

Oikawa is just... really important to him.

Even Oikawa looks surprised for a moment, but then he smiles again, that weird, sad smile back in full force.

"Don't do that," Iwaizumi grunts, and Oikawa's smile melts into something more familiar, more genuine.

"I'm talking to do right now. I talk to you every day." Oikawa says, like the annoying asshole he is.

"Shittykawa you've been hiding something from me for years, don't think I haven't noticed." Iwaizumi says. "When are you gonna tell me what it is?"

"It's private." Oikawa says stiffly, and Iwaizumi wants to punch him because they haven't had  _"private"_ since they were two years old.

"Private, is it? Oh, well, I guess I shouldn't poke my nose into your  _private_ ,  _love life issues_." Iwaizumi says, startling himself with the venom in his voice, though the "love life issues" part was just a stab in the dark because he honestly doesn't know what's going on.

It seems, though, that he's right, and Iwaizumi almost wishes he wasn't.

Oikawa yanks his arm away and steps backwards, eyes wide with anger and face taking on a faintly maniacal look.

It's one that Iwaizumi is familiar with, when Oikawa rages about  _Kageyama Tobio_ or  _Ushijima Wakatoshi._

It is, however, a first to be on the receiving end of such a look.

"God, Iwa-chan, do I have to tell you everything?" Oikawa hisses, and Iwaizumi thinks that there must be something else going on, because Oikawa doesn't usually get so angry so fast at such small provocations.

(Iwaizumi knows that Oikawa's just stressed about whatever-it-is and is just lashing out, but that sure doesn't stop his words from hurting.)

"You're not even my mom."

And there it is, Oikawa Tooru's signature Killer Statement.

Iwaizumi’s heard the line “Iwa-chan, are you my mom?” countless times from Oikawa, because that idiot refuses to take care of himself and leaves it up to Iwaizumi to make sure that yes, he’s stretching, yes, he’s eating, yes, he’s sleeping.

It is a statement that rejects all their years of friendship, all the times Iwaizumi has been there for him, has cared for him.

Iwaizumi closes the distance between them and grabs Oikawa's collar and pulls, so that their faces are level, resisting the urge to headbutt the infuriating look of defiant scorn off Oikawa's face.

"Fine, don't tell me if you don't want to but you don't have to be an asshole about it." Iwaizumi growls low, then releases Oikawa abruptly.

Iwaizumi knows that Oikawa isn't going to see reason for the next twelve hours at least, so he turns around and walks away, waving a hand carelessly without looking back.

"I'll see you tomorrow, idiot."

_(He can't resolve it, not today, but there's still tomorrow, and the day after that, and even months later.)_

_(One day, maybe, but not today.)_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys several things: if you're confused about the whole setting the bird free thing (haaha cuz oikawa's a setter ;;))), here's my line of thinking: in the start it was iwaizumi who was caging; protecting. but now oikawa is (or so he thinks) the anchor, the cage, because of his disability so now hE's the one setting iwaizumi free (of his survivors guilt). 
> 
> secondly, i won't be posting for a while! prob around one and a half weeks because exams are this unnecessary evil God mistaken created but i'll be back after that! 
> 
> To my faithful followers ( HolyFireCassidy :D ) thanks for sticking around so far! This fic is probably going to get real angsty, real fast, as evidenced below. Do leave a comment if yall have something to say!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi lol finally Oikawa's pov!! i had a whole lot of fun writing him because more angst :) :) :) fyi, the events themselves are canon (some), but how Oikawa thinks or reacts to it is most definitely not. This is just my personal take on how he would've reacted soo enjoy!!

Oikawa Tooru is not a genius. It's something he's known since he was a kid.  
  
Possessing a more athletic build than others, yes. Blessed with natural ability, sure. But a genius? Not by a long shot.    
  
Genius is a word reserved only for the prodigious few, the chosen ones such as _Kageyama Tobio_ and _Ushijima Wakatoshi._  
  
Well, screw them. Oikawa might not be a genius, but he's sure as hell going to crush the both of them into the dust.     
  
(Or so he tells himself, again and again, each time less certain than the last, each defeat more painful than the last.)  

 

~-~

   
They lose against Shiratorizawa, when Hajime and Oikawa are first years. It’s their first time against the powerhouse school, and they are overwhelmingly crushed.    
  
They don’t even manage to win a single set.    
  
It’s humiliating, depressing, and frustrating.     
  
“ _Why can’t we win?”_ Oikawa shouts, grabs a stray volleyball and hurls it at the ground.     
  
They’re the last two left in the locker room and they stand facing away from each other, heads bowed and shoulders hunched with the weight of their defeat.     
  
_“One day.”_ Hajime vows, struggling not to cry.     
  
_“One day.”_ Oikawa echoes, etches the words onto his heart like a promise to be kept.     
  
(But then, of course, Kageyama appears, goddamn _Kageyama_ , and everything just spirals downwards from there.)

 

~-~

   
  
But then, but then there's Hajime.  
  
Oikawa doesn't even know where to start when it comes to Hajime. People might describe him as in love with Hajime, which isn't wrong, but it's not how Oikawa would put it.    
  
Because falling in love with someone would imply that it's possible to fall _out_ of love, like some trivial schoolgirl crush that's both superficial and fleeting, which is absolutely not what this is, because Oikawa doesn't think he's physically able to stop loving Hajime.     
  
So Oikawa would say that he loves Hajime, and it's true, he really does love Hajime, a lot.  
  
As a brother, as a best friend, and possibly (hopefully) as something... _more_.    
  
So Oikawa Tooru loves Iwaizumi Hajime, even if he wouldn't say that he's in love with Hajime, but it's a love that _lasts_ , a love that's forever and a love that never leaves.    

  

~-~

    
Oikawa knows pretty early on that he's definitely the jealous type, and petty, and above all, extremely possessive.  
  
He wants Hajime _all_ to himself, _all_ the time. Which isn't exactly fair nor plausible, but Oikawa's not the sharing type either.  
  
_(Mine.)_  
  
So obviously, Oikawa makes it his life's goal to be a constant presence in Hajime's life, monopolizes all of Hajime's time, starts to meet up every week, carefully constructing permanent routines into their lives like alien movies or homework on Sundays.  
  
They're hardly ever apart, which is just how Oikawa likes it. He thinks they spend so much time in each other's houses, in each other's rooms, that there's no difference anymore. Both houses are home.  
  
(For Oikawa, home is wherever Hajime happens to be. It's where he feels safe, secure, sane.)  
  
One of the things Oikawa loves most about Hajime is how he'll always try to make Oikawa happy.  
  
It's not uncommon to hear Hajime condemning the latest alien movie as "the shittiest trash in this world, and all the other non-existent galaxies", or proclaim milk bread as the sole cause of diabetes, or declare that "God, shittykawa, you have the worst fucking personality, _ever_ ."  
  
But, it's also not uncommon for Hajime to go to cinemas to watch all the newly aired extraterrestrial movie with Oikawa, stop by the bakery on the way home to buy milk bread, or spend almost every single waking moment with Oikawa (but that's mainly Oikawa's fault).  
  
Hajime will grumble and groan, but in the end, actions _do_ speak louder than words, and Oikawa hears him past his token complaints.

And maybe, just maybe, Oikawa falls a little harder for Hajime every time it happens.

(Oikawa thinks that maybe if falling in love is like falling into an abyss, then he wouldn't be opposed to saying it, because his love for Hajime is endless and infinite; he just keeps falling harder.)

(That would explain the swooping feeling in Oikawa’s gut every time Hajime leaves, how he’s sometimes breathless with pure happiness when he’s with Hajime, how Hajime just somehow manages to steal the world out from under his feet.)

And because Oikawa isn't actually an entirely selfish jerk (despite popular belief), he makes sure to return the favour, to bring Hajime to eat his favourite Agedashi tofu, to watch all the horribly loud godzilla movies, and do all the things Hajime likes, too.  
  
Even so, Oikawa likes to ask Hajime to _"come to the bakery with me, Iwa-chan!"_ , because the fact that Hajime will actually go with him, just to please Oikawa, means a lot to him, because it's Hajime's way of saying " _I love you, idiot"._

(He wants to keep hearing it though, wants constant reassurance that Hajime still loves him, wants to _prove_ to himself that Hajime will continue to do these little things for him. Out of his own choice, out of love.)  
Hajime doesn't have to say it aloud, but Oikawa hears him just fine.  
  
(It's a different type of love, though, and Oikawa is painfully, acutely, aware that Hajime will never love Oikawa the way Oikawa loves him.)

 

~-~  

 

Oikawa Tooru is someone who loves volleyball, who has integrated volleyball so completely into his life that it has become his coping mechanism, his comfort, his solace.  
  
The crushing defeat at Spring Finals hasn't killed his love for volleyball, not in the least.     
  
(He couldn't cope. Not with the defeat, not with his loss, not with his utter inferiority.)    
  
_Oikawa Tooru_ s aren't someone you can compare to pure geniuses like _Kageyama_ or Ushiwaka, even _Oikawa Tooru_ s who work themselves to the bone, who try and try and _never stop trying_ .    
  
So he turns to volleyball with a desperation and a bitterness, beats it out of himself with every solid _thwak_ of volleyball hitting his palm, every perfectly executed jump serve and every pinpoint toss.    
  
(It hurts, though, his knee. It hurts so much.)  
  
He doesn't want to think about _why_ it's hurting, and all the possible implications because that would mean so many things that he just can't deal with right now, would mean the end of volleyball practices late into the night and would mean the ultimate defeat, because if even his body has given up on him, _how the fuck can he possibly stand a chance?_  
  
Hajime comes by most nights to drag him out of the gym. It's reminiscent of junior high, the same gruff scoldings and poorly hidden worry, searching glances lingering too long on his face.     
  
It's gotten to the point that Oikawa would spend literally hours in the gym, until the next day, because he doesn't want to go home, doesn't want to face the truth of his defeat.    
  
Being on the court is familiar, is freeing, is flying - even if it's echoing with a hollowness rarely felt, silent with an emptiness scarcely heard.  
  
The silence is loud. The silence is deafening.

 

~-~

   
Five years old and watching his first volleyball match on live tv, enthralled, ensnared.    
  
From that moment on, there was no going back.    
  
It was love at first sight, or rather, first spike.     
  
Of course, there were many failed tries before his first successful spike, many days spent in the backyard with Hajime trying to bounce the volleyball on skinny, nobbly arms, trying to figure out the proper way to spike the ball.     
  
He decided there and then, somewhat petulantly, that he much prefers setting.     
  
Volleyball revolves around the setter, who bears the greatest responsibility and is relied upon by the team.     
  
He likes the idea of _being relied upon_ , drags Hajime to sign up with him for the volleyball club at their elementary school.     
  
No matter how hard, or tiring, or just plain _frustrating_ volleyball can be, it is something Oikawa Tooru has never once regretted.  

 

~-~

   
Oikawa Tooru thinks too much. It's one of his many failings, and one he acknowledges but doesn't really try  to change, because it also happens to be one of his strengths - his keen perceptiveness.   

  

~-~ 

  
_What if,_ he thinks, spinning a volleyball between his palms, _I had practiced more?_ _  
_  
He takes a deep breath.     
  
_Stayed back longer, worked harder?_ _  
_  
Opens his eyes, throws the ball into the air, high and graceful.    
  
_Would anything would have been different?_ _  
_  
Long strides, powerful and lightning fast, before jumping into the air, flying through space -     
  
_Would we have won?_ _  
_  
Hits the ball and sends it spinning to the other side of the court with an accuracy that lands it right beside the painted white line, just before but not quite out of bounds.    
  
_We might have won._ _  
_  
He grimaces when he lands, pain spiking sharp through his knee, swaying slightly. Scowls.  
  
Not quite good enough. Again, then.     
  
He picks up another volleyball, throws it up into the air, and runs.  
  
_(Forwards, onwards, to greater heights, higher levels.)_

  

~-~  

  
Oikawa Tooru knows the value of hard work, of hours spent practicing on the court. Maybe he takes it to extremes, to the point where Hajime has to drag him off, but, it's only logical that as someone who lacks in natural talent, he's got to make up for it in practice.     
  
He despairs, sometimes. Gives in, gives up, and walks away.  
  
People say that if you try, anything is possible, but Oikawa knows first hand that it's utter bullshit.  
  
He's been trying and trying and _trying_ , but he still can't win Ushiwaka, still left collapsed on the court staring up at Ushijima staring down at him.     
  
It's something he won't ever get over, something he won't ever forget. He refuses to.    
  
Like how the memory of losing to Karasuno is branded on his brain, burnt on permanently with the scars to show for it.  
  
He makes sure no one can see them, though, not even Hajime. He takes his duty as captain very, very seriously, which means that even if he's breaking inside, he still has to keep the team together, has to be strong for them.     
  
(pretend to be strong, more like, because how could he _possibly_ be strong after that devastating loss?)     
  
And he has been, pretending, that is, to be perfectly fine, and everything had been going just great, until, of course, it all went to hell.

  

~-~

   
Oikawa knows the fight was his fault, because he was feeling somewhat lost over his newly ex-girlfriend, feeling frustrated and sad and mad over losing all over again, because he was just angry, at Kageyama, at Ushiwaka, and most of all at himself.    
  
He says some things he probably shouldn't have, runs away from Hajime and shuts him out, like the coward he is, afraid of facing all the bitter truths Hajime brings with him ("We lost. Deal with it.").     
  
He knows, he _knows_ it, but he can't _deal_ with it. Not just yet, anyway.     
  
And then he's practicing in the gym again and he doesn't know how much time has gone by, but his leg is trembling with the sheer effort of holding up his own weight, and he knows he's at breaking point, he's at his limit, and he _hates_ it.  
  
Hates his stupid body for breaking, hates that it's not good enough, hates that he's _weak_ .    
  
If Hajime hadn't just suddenly shown up when he did, Oikawa probably would still have gone right on doing his jump serves until he broke his knee for good.     
  
But then he finds his knee is hurting too much, and his heart is hurting too much because he's saying all kinds of things with a venom he doesn't feel, but Hajime - god, _Hajime_ \- he doesn't even falter, doesn't hesitate, doesn't leave him and it's more than Oikawa can bear.     
  
_"I don't want anything to do with you anymore."_ Oikawa says, lying through his teeth and hating it, hating everything.     
  
_"Just go away."_  He says to Hajime, but what he really means is _please please don't leave me stay with me i'm scared._ _  
_  
And then Hajime is shouting, and he tells Oikawa, _"You and I will never be over."_ _  
_  
And it's another affirmation, another reassurance that Hajime isn't going to leave him and they'll never be over, no.     
  
Oikawa thinks he falls in love with Hajime all over again, loves him even more because -     
  
_"Never."_ _  
_  
It's a love that lasts, a love that's forever, a love that won't leave.    
  
(Won't, because it's a _choice_ , and Iwaizumi Hajime _chose_ Oikawa Tooru, refuses to leave even when Oikawa shoves him away.)  
  
(Because it’s important to Oikawa that Hajime chooses him, again and again and again.)    
  
Oikawa wants to laugh and cry at the same time, wants to love Hajime and hate himself. His eyes are wet and burning and he steps forward, towards Hajime and -    
  
His leg collapses beneath him, and he screams, because he's finally fallen, his body is finally just as broken on the outside as he is on the inside.  
  
It hurts, so much, and he cries into Hajime's shoulder, Hajime who's strong and sure and solid beside him, holding him through it all.     
  
(He gives up, then, and despairs so completely and utterly because he knows that his stubbornness has finally cost him his volleyball, and _how can he call himself captain if he can't play volleyball?_ )     
  
He can't, of course. He's not nearly selfish enough nor dumb enough to stay on as captain.  
(And _doesn't that just fucking hurt_ , that he has to quit, that he has to abandon his team, that he failed them.)     
  
_(Failed.)_

 

~-~

   
Of course, he should have known better than to think not being able to play volleyball was all the shitty universe had in store for him, because shortly after he was discharged, the dreams started.    
  
They aren't really nightmares, per se, but more of... fragments of memories he'd rather not relive.   

 _Really_ rather not, but he doesn't have a choice, and getting up from bed feeling more tired than when he got into it becomes something familiar, routine, and utterly exhausting.    

He can't sleep, can't share these strange recurring dreams with anyone, can't play volleyball, can't - can't deal with this shit, it's _driving him mad._

  

~-~

   
  
_This time, it isn't actually a memory at all, which is both terrifying and relieving._ _  
__  
__He's standing on a court, struggling to move forward, each step laborious and slow like his limbs have turned to lead._ _  
__  
__He doesn't know why, but he knows that he has to keep going forwards, onwards, he has to catch up, he must, he must._ _  
__  
__He stretches a hand out in front of him, reaching for something that eludes him, and even though he still isn't sure just what exactly it is, he knows - despairingly, desperately - that he won't ever be able to grasp it._ _  
__  
__His fingers brush against the fabric of a black shirt, lined with orange, and then Kageyama stands in front of him, imperial and imposing and still so far ahead, so far away._ _  
__  
__"Weak." Kageyama says, and steps away, watching scornfully as he tries to move forward._ _  
__  
__Behind Kageyama, he suddenly sees another figure, even further away, hundreds and thousands of miles away, standing atop a podium that he's only ever been able to graze with his fingertips._ _  
__  
__"You should have come to Shiratorizawa." Ushiwaka says._ _  
__  
__The darkness is closing in, suffocating and unfurling like poisoned blackness, and he's moving so slowly, watching the receding backs of his two greatest rivals and listening to the echo of their footfalls die away._ _  
__  
__(Left behind, can't catch up, weak, defeat.)_ _  
__  
__It's an endless repetition and he stops trying, stops fighting to move on forward._ _  
__  
__(Faintly, he thinks he remembers, but the memory fades just before he wakes._ _  
__  
__Hand grasping out at nothing, but then there is something there, warm familiar hands fitting against his own, pulled close and steadied.)_ _  
__  
__"I'm here."_ _  
__  
__(I'm here.)_ _  
__  
__(warmthcouragesafetyconfidencelove - )_ _  
__  
__(hope.)_

 

~-~

   
Oikawa Tooru is many, many things, but he is not one for loss, he is not one for hope.  
  
Right now, his life is in shambles, and he can't seem to pick up all the broken pieces, doesn't know how to fit them all back together, jagged edges sharp and slicing.  
  
(No matter how many times he tries, he only ends up getting cut.)  
  
He despairs,

.

 

.

 

.

 

silently,

.

 

.

 

.

 

_alone._

 

✫✫✫ 

 

After years of unrequited pining and unintentional rejections, you might think that Oikawa would've given up all hope of Hajime loving him back a long time ago.

But of course, the one thing Oikawa happens to be, is extremely fucking stubborn. 

It's a fact lamented by his parents and teachers and of course, Hajime himself, but it's how he managed to get so good at volleyball, even when his very anatomy is against it, especially when his very anatomy is against it.

And it is this particular trait of his which refuses to give up on Hajime, even if Oikawa knows that it's damn near impossible, even if Oikawa tries his hardest to squash it down.

Hope will only hurt more, in the end.

Maybe if he repeats it to himself enough times, he'll start to believe it, too.

There was time, in junior high? - when Oikawa was extremely popular and was dating girl after girl, flirting and generally being one heck of a playboy.

( _"Jerk!"_  Hajime yells.  _"Don't date if you don't mean it!"_

 _"The only one I want to date is you."_  Oikawa wants to say, but doesn't, tried to lose the bitterness on his tongue in the taste of his current girlfriend's mouth.)

(It doesn't work, not once, not ever.)

And then, he tried to flirt with Hajime, too.

In the start, Hajime would flush with embarrassment and anger, and it would thrill Oikawa to no end, watching his face fill with colour, would love how he could do that to Hajime. 

Over time, though, as Hajime becomes inured, there were only fists and feet, hurting more than the strike.

Oikawa is perceptive, especially when it comes to Hajime, and he sees how there's not the slightest sign of reciprocation in Hajime's retaliation, not even serious consideration, like he really does only think Oikawa as a friend and nothing more.

So, yes, it hurts. It hurts like hell, but he consoles himself that Hajime isn't the brightest, most observant or emotionally matured, maybe he's just pure oblivious and extremely dense, or...

Or maybe Hajime's just not gay, or pretending not to notice his advances because he really just doesn't like Oikawa in that way.

It just gets more depressing each time his carefully thought out lines fall flat, so he stops, rather abruptly, because he doesn’t thinks he can take much more blatant rejection, at least not in this current lifetime.

(Even if he stops, he still hopes, still hyperaware of every little action Hajime makes that may or may not indicate his gayness or interest in Oikawa.)

Something changed, though. 

Oikawa thinks it might've been after his fall, or because of it, but he catches Hajime checking him out more than once, and Hajime's gone all soft around the edges that are usually hard and biting.

 

~-~

 

Hajime climbs over to his room the night he gets discharged, interrupting his mental descent into utter chaos because what if _– what if he can never play volleyball again??_

He rushes to throw it open and – and then Hajime is falling off the tree and he moves completely on blind, overwhelming terror, grabbing Hajime and hauling into the room, uncaring of his newly broken leg.

His heart is still beating wildly in his ears, and he can still taste the fear on his tongue, because the thought of Hajime in danger absolutely terrifies him.

But then the real shocker is that Hajime actually flirts with him, and checks him out, even though he’s never ever even showed the slightest sign of interest.

 _“Next time,”_  Hajime tells him, and Oikawa echoes,  _“…next time?”_

Because the reassurances of  _next time_ s are warm and full of hope, rekindled after so many years of absence. 

His hope flares into a bonfire, and it lights him up inside.

_(Oh, if only he knew.)_

 

~-~

 

It's... not a bad change, and Oikawa can't help but hope that it means Hajime is finally noticing him and maybe, just  _maybe_ , there's hope after all.

 

~-~

 

Oikawa calls Hajime in the morning because he just really wants to hear Hajime's voice, pleasantly surprised that Hajime picks up so quickly.

And then he watches Hajime watch him from his window, and he's giddy with excitement because  _notice me Hajime!!!_

He wants so badly to be near Hajime, climbs out his window and then watches as Hajime very nearly springs out of his own.

It makes him feel light and tingly all over, like he's floating and flying. 

Hajime's hands around him are more than he could've asked for, and he relishes in the moment, and he's so full of hope that it hurts - he wants to confess, and he wants to never say a thing, never do anything that might risk their friendship.

But he’s selfish, and greedy, and he’s never been good at not doing anything. And god, Oikawa should've know better. Good things never last long.

Oikawa leans in, drawn by Hajime’s irresistible gravity. He just wants to kiss Hajime _once_. If Hajime kisses him back, then Oikawa will know that maybe, just _maybe_ , Hajime likes him back.

If Hajime pushes him away, or yells… Well then, Oikawa would know for sure that Hajime doesn’t feel the same and so he’d be able to get over Hajime eventually, right? 

 _It’s a win-win situation_ , Oikawa tries to convince himself desperately, hoping beyond hope.

And then Hajime jerks away, but not before Oikawa catches the look of _disgust_ and _fear_ , so blindingly obvious and toxic that it brings tears to Oikawa’s eyes, cuts him right to the core. 

_(Because Oikawa can tell that Hajime is disgusted, and he’s scared, and there’s no fucking way he loves Oikawa back_

_(Ashamed.)_

_“What is it?”_ Oikawa demands of him, but it comes out all wrong, like he’s begging Hajime to lie, to say that it was nothing, like he _wants_ Hajime’s _pity._

 _“Oikawa, I just don’t– “_ Hajime starts, but Oikawa already knows where it is going, doesn’t think he can _bear_ to hear the _“I just don’t like you”_ laid out so plainly, so he cuts in sharply.

There’s something wrong with his chest – it’s all tight and his breaths are all gaspy, and Oikawa instinctively holds on to Hajime tighter, because he  _never wants to let Hajime go –_ and  _oh_ , and Hajime looks at their joined hands like it’s  _scandalous_ , like it’s  _dirty_ , like he wants to rip his hand away but can’t bring himself to.

 _“Let me go,”_ Oikawa says, turned away, so that Hajime won’t see the tears burning in his eyes, and he was  _so wrong,_ to think that Hajime would  _ever_ love him back, could ever love him back.

But Hajime’s still holding on, refusing to let Oikawa run away, and it’s impossibly endearing and infuriating at the same time.

Hajime looks so  _lost_ and  _confused_ , like he doesn’t know what’s happening, but Oikawa knows Hajime better than he knows himself, can read him like a book, and now there’s only rejection spelled out in the lines of his mouth, hard with anger and frustration.

And then Hajime loosens his fingers and Oikawa’s hand fall away, and it’s relieving and crushing at the same time. 

He stops to look back, one last aching glance of Hajime, of his deluded dreams and foolish fantasies.

_(It’s time to let go.)_

Oikawa turns away, half-running in his shaking steps back through his window, which he slams closed behind him. He slides to the ground in muted defeat, tears finally starting to fall.

And his hope, however small, however irrational, had shriveled up and died anyway.

_(Too late, he’s gone, gone forever.)_

 

✫✫✫

 

When going through all his romantic escapades in his head, Oikawa Tooru has always planned for the possible rejection, and even once made a list of “Things to do After Rejection/Break Up”.

He’s hasn’t actually gotten rejected before, ever, so has only ever completed number 1 on his list for breakups, which is “Play volleyball until you physically can’t anymore”.

Well, he sure as hell aced that one, a little too well.

Following that, there’s “Listen to slow sad songs”, “Eat too much milk bread”, “Watch bad romance dramas”, and countless of other little things he’d imagine himself doing one day, in the slump of a failed courtship.

 And Oikawa Tooru, for the first time in his (admittedly) short life, has just gotten rejected by his one true love, yet he does none of the things on the list he’d so painstakingly drawn up.

Instead, he lies on his bed and cries all through the day, because it  _hurts too bloody much_ to even think of doing anything else.

Ten hours are passed curled up on pillows and blankets which are dampened with saltiness, sometimes crushed by shaking hands in alternating fits of overwhelming loneliness and overpowering anger.

By the end of it, when Oikawa finally drags himself out of bed to take a piss (he  _really_ needs, otherwise he’d still be all curled up until Christmas), his mind is made up.

 _Three things_ , he tells himself. 

 

  1. _Act normal. (Because Hajime is a dense idiot and hopefully he’ll just forget about the whole incident.)_


  1. _Treasure it. (And fully enjoy it, because he’s already way too deep in with Hajime, there’s no way he can pull out now, so he might as well try to have as much fun as possible, right?)_


  1. _Never, ever ever ever ever let Hajime find out. (that I love him.)_



 

He isn’t over Hajime, because how could he  _ever_ be over Hajime? – but now that he finally knows the truth (unbearably bitter, but one that is always effective when it comes to unrequited love), Oikawa supposes there’s nothing much he can do except suck it up and try to treasure all the time he has left with Hajime.

(Thinking that way, in that fake, optimistic, goddamn fucking dumb  _defeated_  attitude makes him want to  _break_ something, but he’s just spent eight hours in the black hole of utter despair and heartbreak. Oikawa chooses the lesser of two evils and sticks with it, because just thinking about his rejection is enough to make the tears come back.)

And stick with it he does.

It’s painful to go to Hajime’s room and smile at him like nothing’s wrong, even though it’s wrong and weird and  _hurts so much_ , but Oikawa tries desperately, to keep his voice level and smooth even when he’s breaking up inside.

And damnit, Hajime  _knows_ , because Hajime always knows when Oikawa is upset, or hurting, and Hajime still cares, and  _perhaps,_ Oikawa thinks,  _that’s what hurts the most._

 _“I just felt like it.”_ Oikawa tells Hajime, careful to keep his voice light and casual, because he doesn’t want to scare Hajime off with confessions of a love that won’t be requited, with the burden of unwanted knowledge. His pride won’t allow him to appear weak, so he pretends it’s no big deal.

 _“I didn’t mean it or anything.”_ He says, tries to pretend that he didn’t offer up his whole heart to Hajime, tries to pretend that it’s a shattered mess inside his chest, jagged edges cutting deeper with every word.

 _“I love you.”_ Oikawa doesn’t say, and swallows it down to fester with the rest of his raging emotions.

Later, they meet Makki and Mattsun. When Hajime leaves, Oikawa talks like everything is perfect, announces bright and cheery, “Iwa-chan rejected me, and I’ve given up on trying, so don’t try to persuade me, and yes, I was an idiot and tried to kiss him, and yes, he… jerked away, like I was _dirty_. So yeah, he obviously doesn’t like me that way. Right now, I don’t even know if he likes me _any_ way at all.”

Makki and Mattsun sympathize with him, because they’ve known since the start that Oikawa’s been pining, been there with him and by him, in silent support.

While there’s nothing they can say that’ll make it better, at least it can’t possibly get any  _worse._

And Oikawa is honestly still new to this whole Act-Like-It’s-All-Okay thing, so there’s still cracks in his mask he forgets to patch up, and Hajime sees right through him as usual, and Oikawa does the same thing all over again, says the  _wrong bloody thing,_ is an absolute asshole and he wants Hajime to walk away and pull him closer, even though he’s pretty sure Hajime is pretty tired of his bullshit and going to leave him and –

_“I’ll see you tomorrow, idiot.”_

And  _oh,_ it’s another promise, another reassurance, that they’ll  _keep on going_ because they’ll  _never be over (never),_ and Oikawa stares blankly at Hajime’s receding back, feeling that he’s just fallen all over again.   

_(and Oikawa Tooru will never stop falling for Iwaizumi Hajime, never.)_

 

~-~

 

Oikawa meets with Hanamaki and Matsukawa at Hanamaki’s house, because he just doesn’t know what to do with himself after Hajime had walked away, doesn’t think he should be alone right now because he’s not sure what he’ll  _do_  –

So, he turns to his two closest friends after Hajime (because no one would ever be as close to him as Hajime is), and thankfully they allow Oikawa to crash their Saturday afternoon, even though they just parted ways less than an hour ago.

(He also feels that he should at least keep up the act of being busy today, even if Hajime has already seen through his excuse.)

“Thanks for having me over!” Oikawa sings as he bursts into Hanamaki’s room, all bright smiles and cheerful spirits. “Sorry to interrupt your… alone time."

Hanamaki and Matsukawa give him identical looks of unamused deadpan from where they’re splayed out on the floor, playing some videogame Oikawa doesn’t recognize.

“Oh, damnit Oikawa, you cockblock.” Matsukawa drawls out, but pauses the game to roll over and face him.  “So, why’re you here again?”

“I decided I would grace the both of you with my presence because Iwa-chan is currently being extremely unappreciative.” Oikawa declares, succeeds in keeping his voice level when he says  _Iwa-chan,_ even if he feels like stuttering and tripping over the syllables of his name.

(It still amazes Oikawa; how powerful a name can be. Years of  _Iwa-chan_ s rolling of his tongue still leaves him feeling warm and tingly, an endearment only Oikawa can call Hajime, something special, something unique to only  _him._ )

Hanamaki raises an unimpressed eyebrow but doesn’t deign to justify Oikawa’s statement with a response. 

“Makki, it’s true.” Oikawa whines, more out of habit than anything else, filling the still air between them with the familiar rise and fall of banter, even if it’s not with the person he so desperately wants to be with. “Mattsun, you believe me, right?”

“What happened?” Matsukawa asks bluntly, sets his hand down on the floor only inches apart from Hanamaki’s.

Oikawa flops onto Hanamaki’s bed, lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug and buries his face into the pillow so he doesn’t have to face them.

Oikawa doesn’t want to admit that he was an asshole (again) and that the hurt of rejection is still too raw and painful right now to spend an entire afternoon with Hajime. He doesn’t want to have to pretend that nothing’s happened and that he’s all right for that long, because he’s sure Hajime will notice and ask him about it. 

(He doesn’t know how he’ll respond, doesn’t think he’d be able to keep it together, so he doesn’t even give himself the chance to mess everything up.) 

(He probably already did, though.) 

“Yeah, I thought you and Iwaizumi always spend Saturday afternoons together.” Hanamaki presses, rolls over to face Matsukawa and brings his hand in close so that it’s touching Matsukawa’s.

(Their pinkies are linked loosely, like they’re shaking on some secret promise to be kept to the death, yet poised to be ripped apart at the slightest movement from the oblivious setter lying on the bed.

They share a secret smile and curl their fingers tighter, entwining the promise stronger in the joining of their hands, of their bodies.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa have always understood each other without words, silently and completely, and they are an unbreakable force together, invincible in their solidarity.)

“We do.” Oikawa mumbles through the fabric of the pillow, nuzzling into it and half-hoping he’d smother.

There’s a silence, and Oikawa doesn’t relax until he hears Matsukawa’s muttered “okay then”, and the sounds of the videogame starting up again.

Oikawa pulls out his phone and has an urge to text Hajime, to just – just  _say_ something, to receive something in turn. It’s not an uncommon feeling, which is the reason why Oikawa tends to spam Hajime a lot, even though they’re practically always together.

Because  _almost always_ isn’t good enough.

And because Oikawa is the possessive, jealous, and unreasonable type, he texts Hajime anyway. 

(At least Oikawa’s honest with himself, recognizes and accepts all of his personality deficits.)

 

_From: Trashykawa_

_iwa-chan what’re you doing now?_

 

He holds his phone in his hand and feels almost breathless with anticipation, jittery with a nervous energy that has the butterflies starting to rustle their wings in his stomach.

Around seventeen seconds later, there’s a reply. (yes, he counted.)

 

 _From: Iwa-chan ~(˘_   _▾_   _˘~)_

Studying, duh

Idiot, what else would I be doing?

Just because you bailed doesn’t mean I can slack off

Where did  _you_ run off to?

 

_From: Trashykawa_

i’m with makki and mattsun

 

There’s no point lying about it now, since Hajime will find out later on anyway.

 

 _From: Iwa-chan ~(˘_   _▾_   _˘~)_

At least try to get some studying done instead of just lazing around

 

Oikawa’s fingers still over his screen, the line “ _Iwa-chan, are you my mom?”_ on his fingertips, half-typed into his textbox. He stares at it for a while, indecision in the lines of his mouth, crumpled and hard.

 

_From: Trashykawa_

okay, okay~

see u tmr!!

 

 _From: Iwa-chan ~(˘_   _▾_   _˘~)_

After school at mine?

 

_From: Trashykawa_

yepp!!

 

✫✫✫

 

Oikawa wakes up with a jerk and a sob half-formed before he manages to choke it back down. 

His room is pitch black and he shudders with pure terror, stumbling out of bed and almost falling over in his haste to throw open the curtains. 

His hands are shaking with the force of which he clutches the curtains, the streetlamps outside illuminating the sharp angles of his face.

He half-sobs again, body shuddering with great gasping heaves of breath drawn in like liquid courage, choked upon and scalding. 

The dreams were worse tonight. He tries to recall what it had been about, fragmented pieces slowly filtering back to him. 

The one thing he remembers with startling clarity is the feeling of slow suffocation, of a piercing pain building within his lungs and spreading to his head and his hands and legs until he can't move, can't think, can't - can't - 

He shudders again, squeezes his eyes shut and rubs away the nuances of tears on his shirt collar.

It's through pure habit that his body moves on autopilot, and he changes into his sports attire almost robotically, breaths gradually slowing with the routine of it.

By the time he reaches the school, he's regained full control of his limbs and managed to huff away the last vestiges of the dream into the cool night air.

He vaults over the gate with a deftness born of experience, treads the familiar path to the gym and unlocks it.

(Hajime used to keep the gym keys, to make sure that he would never sneak to the gym to overwork himself, the memory of junior high still fresh in their minds.

Of course, he stole the keys back pretty soon after their last high school match against Karasuno, and Hajime hasn't been able to get his hands on it since.)

He leaves the lights off, walks to the middle of the court, the same court he spent a large part of three years on, with his team, with Hajime.

It's a place of memories, of comfort and regret, and he slowly lowers himself to the floor, tracing the polished wooden contours with his fingers.

He sits there, alone in the vast darkness, for a long, long time.

 

~-~

 

"Iwa-chan?" Oikawa asks, sprawled on Hajime's bed, his textbook long since discarded on the floor.

Hajime sits at his desk studying, resolutely ignoring Oikawa as he has been for the past few hours ever since Oikawa burst into his room and  _"totally ruined my Monday afternoon, annoyingkawa!"_

"What are you going to do in college?" Oikawa asks. 

Hajime's pen stills, and seeming to realize that Oikawa would just keep bugging him until he answered, concedes defeat with a long drawn out sigh as he turns to face Oikawa.

"I haven't actually decided," Hajime starts, seeming to weigh his words carefully. "but."

"But?" Oikawa prompts, sits up on the bed to see Hajime better. "But what?"

"I dunno, I was thinking, maybe I'd do medicine." Hajime mutters, brings a hand to scratch the back of his head in what Oikawa recognizes as embarrassment.

"It suits you." Oikawa says simply. "You'd be a good doctor."

"I have to make the grades first, though." Hajime says, frowning.

"Iwa-chan, I'm sure you can make it."

"Tch." Hajime swivels his chair back around, the tips of his ears faintly red, and it’s only upon relaxing his face that Oikawa realizes that he’d been smiling softly at Hajime, in a way that’s entirely reserved for Hajime and only him.

Oikawa tugs the blanket around his shoulders and hunches into it like a shell after his brief moment of unintentional vulnerability, but he supposes Hajime does always manage to make him let his guard down.

“Iwa-chan?”

Hajime breathes out explosively through his nose, which Oikawa takes as a cue to continue.

“I thought you wanted to go pro?”

Hajime frowns, turning around, irritation momentarily forgotten. “Since when?”

“You said you wanted to." 

“I said I was  _considering_ it.”

“So, what changed your mind?”

“Lots of things. Nothing. My mind never really was made up. I don’t know.” 

“We used to talk of becoming professional volleyball players together, remember?” Oikawa says. “You seemed plenty excited then." 

“Yeah, well, I changed my mind.”

“You just said you didn’t make up your mind!” Oikawa’s voice rises in volume, in agitation 

“I decided that I’d rather become a doctor.” Hajime snaps. “End of story.”

There’s a pause, and Hajime’s words weigh on his mind, hang in the air between them.

“Why... what helped you make that decision?” Oikawa asks casually, carefully.

“I didn’t… Why do you want to know anyway, shittykawa?”

Oikawa already knows what Hajime’s response will be, but he can’t help himself.

“Was it… is it because of me?”

Instantly, understanding flashes across Hajime’s face before it screws up in anger, and Oikawa watches on unashamedly, never ceasing to be enthralled with the way Hajime is always so passionate, radiating emotions and fire and life.

“Dumbass! Stupidkawa! You always think only of yourself, that it’s  _you_ and  _you_ and  _you_! I want to become a doctor, and I made this decision myself, and it has nothing to do with you, broken leg or not.” Hajime shouts, and being shouted at by Hajime is just something so  _familiar_. “If I wanted to go pro, I would still go pro. You aren’t holding me back or anything. I  _chose_  not to.” 

Of course, at the end of it all, Hajime knows how much Oikawa values the ability to  _choose_ , is aware of all the doubt and insecurities and guilt still lingering, and it’s… well, hearing it from Hajime himself is reassuring and freeing. 

“But you were really enthusiastic about going pro last time.” Oikawa presses, drawing the blanket tighter around himself, threading it between his fingers and pulling it taut. “You know, before I broke my leg and everything. You just suddenly changed your mind after that.”

Hajime scowls at him but Oikawa meets his eyes stubbornly, refusing to back down.

“So was it because of me that you wanted to go pro?” Oikawa asks. “Or is it because of me that you decided not to?” 

“Okay,  _firstly_ ,” Hajime says, and Oikawa is surprised that Hajime’s being so calm and not bursting a blood vessel yelling himself hoarse, but it’s a good change so Oikawa keeps his mouth shut. “ _Firstly, you need to stop flattering yourself, shittyfuckingkawa.”_

“I  _thought of_ going pro, and it seemed like a  _nice_ idea, but not a very practical one, because, let’s face it, there’s plenty of gifted spikers and I’m nowhere near the top.” Hajime brings up a hand to forestall Oikawa’s protests. “Let me finish first, assikawa.”

“So,  _obviously_ , it is not  _because of_ you  _anything_ , it is because I  _decided_  that I want to do medicine, which  _I do._ It’s not all about you, all the time, idiotkawa!” Hajime rapidly devolves into yells of expletives that Oikawa tunes out almost automatically.

The doubt and guilt lingering at his consciousness which had loomed so large in the darkness of the gym now seems dwarfed by Hajime’s words, burned away by his assurances. There’s something warm and fuzzy in his chest, and Oikawa pulls the blanket over his head and falls forward onto the bed, smiling slightly into the mattress.

“- idiot, dumbest,  _moronkawa_  – “

Oikawa closes his eyes, but finds that he can’t remember his dream, not anymore, not at all. 

“- self-absorbed selfish stupid  _narcissistic – “_

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa interrupts. “I think your vocabulary has grown!” 

“You fucker!” Hajime snarls, but there’s laughter in his voice, and suddenly Hajime is draping himself over Oikawa, pinning him to the bed and tickling him mercilessly. “Say that again!”

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa screams, struggling and giggling uncontrollably. “Nooooo!”

Hajime is laughing loudly too, as Oikawa thrashes in the blankets, managing to shrug Hajime off and to the side.

Oikawa is still breathless with hysterical laughter, and his breath hitches when he turns to the side and catches Hajime staring at him, grinning widely and eyes creased.

In that instant, Oikawa doesn’t think that there could possibly a person more beautiful than Iwaizumi Hajime.

Oikawa curls his body around Hajime’s, snakes an arm around his waist and a leg between Hajime’s own, pulling him in close, pulling him in tight and flush against his chest, snuggling into Hajime’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of his detergent, of home.

“Oikawa…” Hajime gasps out, right at Oikawa’s ear, and after so many repetitions of  _shittykawa_ and  _trashykawa_ , it’s feels new and strange and  _intimate_ , yet too much of a stranger all at the same time.

Because Hajime still calls him “Oikawa”, like another passing acquaintance, like they haven’t shared  _years_ of their lives, like they’re not best friends and everything that they are.

It’s frustrating, but there’s simply no good to bring it up without Hajime suspecting something’s off, so Oikawa doesn’t say anything, just nuzzles in closer and closes his eyes, wraps his arms tight and holds Hajime close, as if maybe if he squeezes hard enough he’ll never have to let Hajime go.

_(if only.)_

 

✫✫✫

 

The next few days bleed into weeks, which blur into months, of studying and revising and memorizing and then doing it all over again for the entrance exams upon which their future hinge upon.

There simply isn't time to think about anything other than the upcoming test or why he got question 4c wrong, which is both unbearable and relieving, because Oikawa can't linger on Hajime.

It seems too sudden, too soon - and the exams are upon them and it's utter hell, total chaos and then - it's over.

After the wild celebrations and sleeping like a rock for sixteen hours, Oikawa feels mildly surprised and out of place to find himself, once again, listening to yet another adult yakking away about something like  _" - your career! The college you choose will determine your future, so it is essential -"_

He's in an auditorium at some school, the name of which he can't remember.

"Iwa-chan, are you even listening?" Oikawa sniggers, leans to his right slightly where Hajime is sitting looking completely zoned out, eyes glazed over.

"Tsk." Hajime scowls and peers furtively at the lecturer, but thankfully they're at one of the back seats and quite far away. The chairs come with attachable desks, which Oikawa leans his elbows on to support the weight of his head.

"I'm so bored," Oikawa whines, pokes Hajime in the thigh repeatedly. "I already know which college I want to go."

"Uh huh?" Hajime says. "Which one?"

"Whichever college Iwa-chan goes to, of course!" Oikawa smiles at him charmingly, and Hajime catches Oikawa's offending finger when it tries to stab his leg, crushing it in his hand.

"Idiot, don't make jokes like that. This is important." Hajime hisses, and Oikawa wriggles his hand out of his grasp to grab Hajime's hand instead.

"I'm utterly serious, Iwa-chan." 

Oikawa's hand is bigger, and Hajime's hand rests in his palm back down. Oikawa curls his fingers in on Hajime's, so that he clenches Hajime's hand in a fist.

(It's like holding hands, but not really, because Oikawa is the one doing all the holding.)

(It's still nice, though, to have Hajime's hand in his.)

"And what're you going to study there?" 

"I don't know, I'll see what the school offers." 

"Dumbykawa, you can't do that."

"It doesn't matter, since I'm going to be a professional volleyball player." Oikawa whispers back. 

"Really?" Hajime asks, surprised. "With your knee like that?"

"Yeah."

Hajime very visibly restrains himself from shouting, settling for a whisper yell that's pretty loud anyway. "Are you a fucking idiot?!"

Hajime's hand crushes his own in a vice like grip and Oikawa takes the opportunity to slip his fingers into the spaces between Hajime's.

(This is more like holding hands, although Hajime is squeezing his hand from anger more than anything else, but it could be mistaken for love if one doesn't look too closely.)

Oikawa turns his face away and grins, says, "Iwa-chan, didn't we establish that a looooong time ago?"

Hajime sighs, turns to look at Oikawa with a familiar expression of fond exasperation, and the affection in his gaze has Oikawa gulping down hard. 

"I want to go to the same college." Oikawa says, staring straight ahead at the lecturer. "...don't you?

Hajime sighs, reaches over with his other hand to flick Oikawa in the ear. "Do you even have to ask such a dumb question?"

"So?"

"Of course I want to."

Hajime's thumb runs across Oikawa's knuckles in a repetitive, circular motion, the calluses on his finger from handling and spiking too many volleyballs rough on Oikawa's skin. 

They both pretend to pay attention to the lecturer as he starts shouting something about applications and scholarships, which Oikawa completely tunes out. 

He's completely focused on their held hands hidden under the foldable tables, palms slick with sweat and fingers rough with calluses.

(This, Oikawa thinks, shivering slightly and not from the cold, is what holding hands is like.)

(He has to turn his face away so that Hajime can't see him smile stupidly, because holding hands is too silly a thing to be caught grinning over.)

Oikawa flexes his fingers slightly and Hajime's thumb stops moving, disappointment and loss hitting him like a punch to the gut.

Then Hajime turns to look at him and grins, secretively, and the thrill of possibly being caught holding hands with a boy in a hall filled with students is intoxicating.

Because the whole scandal of the situation isn't that he's holding hands with his best friend, but that said best friend is a boy.

Oikawa knows homosexuality is illegal, unforgivable, and unacceptable in Japan, but that doesn't stop him from falling for the completely wrong gender.

(He's pretty sure he's bi, though, there had been some girls now and then to make him feel something, even if it's nothing compared to what he feels for Hajime.

Or maybe he's selectively gay, for just one person.)

"Did you know," Hajime leans in to whisper conspiratorially. "That there's this acupoint on your hand that's apparently supposed to help cure a whole bunch of illnesses."

Hajime's warm breath ghosts across his ear and Oikawa shivers slightly, looks down at where Hajime has taken Oikawa's hand in between his.

"Right here." Hajime breathes, pressing down on the webbing of skin between Oikawa's thumb and pointer finger. The pressure is slightly painful, and Oikawa's breath hitches slightly, but not from discomfort. 

"Iwa-chan, I don't think it's working." Oikawa replies instead, folds his hand over Hajime's. "But I know how you can make me feel  _real_  good."

"Jerk!" Hajime hisses, face flushing red as he tries unsuccessfully to yank his hand away. "You totally just ruined the moment." 

"Hey, okay, sorry!" Oikawa says as he intwines their fingers again. "Kidding."

Hajime grumbles under his breath, but curls his fingers tighter around Oikawa's hand.

They don't talk for the next few minutes, Hajime very obviously zoning out and Oikawa reveling in the feeling of their held hands.

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa whispers. "I'm going to play volleyball in college."

"Yeah, stupid me, for thinking that a broken knee is gonna stop you." Hajime says.

"I'm going to make it on the team. And then I'm going to crush Ushiwaka-chan."

Hajime turns to look at him,  _really_  look at him, and then he nods. "Yeah. I know you will." 

From anyone else, it might have felt like an expectation to be reached, but from Hajime, it's a testament to Oikawa's ability as a setter, because Hajime  _knows_ him, and yet  _still_ believes in him.

"Better choose a college with a strong volleyball team, Iwa-chan." Oikawa says off-handedly. "Because Ushiwaka-chan's gonna be going to one of the top schools, so I need to good team to beat him." 

"Yeah, of course I will." Hajime says, then scowls. "Also, you can't play until the doctor certifies you medically fit to."

Oikawa waves it off breezily, like doctors and being medically unfit to play are just minor inconveniences, because there's no way he'll let a chance to beat Ushijima slip through his fingers.

"I'm going to show the world that geniuses can be brought down." Oikawa whispers, and there's fire and fury straining at the confines of his low volume. "That talent doesn't make you the best, that the rest of us regular people can be good, too."

Because that's what it ultimately boils down to, isn't it? That some people would win just because they were simply  _born_  that way. That it is their preordained  _destiny_  to be the best without having to put in half as much effort as the rest of the non-gifted people. That people who love volleyball and devote their entire life to getting better, will still never be good enough to beat them.

Oikawa's tried and failed enough time to begin to see the truth in it, but he's not one for giving up, for letting something he has no choice over decide who will win, who will go nationals.

He'll show them. He'll show them all.

Oikawa's knee stings a little, a reminder of past defeats, of having already tried and been crushed, of worthless pride which kept him from joining Shiratorizawa. 

He doesn't believe in the saying "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em". He'll always be trying to beat them, beat Ushijima, Kageyama, and damned if anyone thought he was actually going to join Shiratorizawa.

(As if he'd ever abandon Hajime, ever.)

It's a rejection of how the world works, of the self he'd been born with - it's worth, or rather worthlessness in the face of such overwhelming superiority. He continues to reject, won't accept it. 

This so called worthless pride of his had been one of the main driving forces behind his unrelenting determination to practice, and practice, right up there with his innate competitiveness and feelings of acute fear and insecurities. 

(And so his “worthless pride”, in its very existence, has now a worth in and of itself. Seijoh and everyone on his team and how far they’ve improved is living, breathing proof of that.)

He won’t ever forget it, never once regretted his decision to join Seijoh.

(He himself thinks he's pretty screwed up, but there's no changing how he is, and so Hajime accepting him in his entirety, with all his insecurities and imperfections and so many, many flaws, is more than he can ask for.)

"I want to win," Oikawa says, but really, he just means,  _"I want to prove myself"_ ,  _"I want to show them I'm not weak, not broken, not defeated, no."_ ,  _"They will never break me."_

He thinks Hajime gets it on some level, though he doesn't know how much of the truth he really knows.

_(Would Hajime still look at him the same way?)_

Hajime knows some parts, the deep doubts and fears and desires, so Oikawa can be truthful around him, to some degree.

_(Would Hajime still want to be with him?)_

Hajime has always been the one to pick up all his scattered pieces and put him back together, after a particularly bad fall or a crushing defeat.

_(Pathetic, weak, disgusting, powerless)_

Oikawa is startled out of his musings when Hajime squeezes his hand hard, and in turning to look over, discovers that Hajime's grip is strong, sure.

"What're you thinking so hard about?" Hajime whispers. 

"Nothing," Oikawa whispers back, "Just can't wait to play together in college."

Hajime stares at him solemnly for a moment before pulling his hand out of Oikawa's grasp to rub at the back of his head.

"Well, about that..." Hajime says slowly, eyes sliding past Oikawa's face. "I don't think I'm going to play volleyball in college."

Oikawa's feels the hurt and disappointment like a physical entity smashing him in the face, and his first thought is invasive and crushing.

_(Has Hajime finally gotten sick of him? - sick of losing with him, watching him lose?)_

"Oh," Oikawa's mouth moves on autopilot and he turns to face the front, rigid. "Okay, then."

"Wait, listen, shittykawa," Hajime hisses, reaches out to grab his shoulder to jerk Oikawa back to facing him. "It's only if I get into medicine because I don't think I can cope with both volleyball and medicine school." 

"If I'm going to play volleyball with you, I want to be able to dedicate all my time and effort into it, so we can take down the bastard Ushijima." Hajime whispers furiously. "If I'm only gonna be half there, you'll be better off with a better spiker who can really put in the time to keep up with you." 

"I'll be better off?! I knew you don’t want to go pro, but not play at all?!" Oikawa spits. "If you don't want to play with me, you can just say it." 

(Hajime's too nice to admit something like that, but Oikawa knows it anyway.)

"Damnit, asshole - " Hajime starts to say, but it is at that exact moment that the lecture ends, and the auditorium is filled with the scraping of chair legs as students start to leave. 

Oikawa takes this chance to grab his bag and he shrugs off Hajime's hand roughly, disappearing into the crowd without looking back.

_(When all’s said and done, Hajime's better off without him.)_

 

 ~-~

 

Oikawa shoulders his way through the dense crowd of adolescent bodies, occasionally waving to girls he's kissed before and smiling charmingly. He does have to keep up appearances, after all. 

(And he definitely doesn't have tears burning at the back of his eyes, nope.)

Hajime takes some time to catch up, and Oikawa's surprised he even managed to make it halfway out of the school before Hajime's foot connects solidly with his back.

There are shocked stares from the students of this school (the students who know them continue on without a second glance because it's a familiar spectacle and Oikawa stumbles forward, only to be yanked back by his shirt collar. 

"Iwa-chan, you're making a scene! Look at how many people are staring!" Oikawa drawls, smirking in the smug, asshole-ish way he knows pisses Hajime off.

Hajime doesn't reply, but tightens his grip around Oikawa's collar, dragging him bodily forwards. The crowd almost seems to part before them, or maybe Hajime's just particularly aggressive, but they manage to reach the school buses relatively quickly. 

During the walk, Hajime's hand has dropped from his shirt collar to strong fingers wrapped around Oikawa's wrist, to make sure the push and pull of the crowd doesn't separate them.

"Hey, asshole, don't run off again later." Hajime tells him seriously. "We're lunching at that place I wanted to try last time."

Oikawa stares at him and then blinks once, his own quirky way of unspoken assent, and Hajime grunts before jogging away to find his own bus. Oikawa gets onto his own bus, quickly being hailed by several of his classmates and engaged in conversation, yet can't help himself from staring into other buses, trying to locate a familiar face he just saw seconds ago.

 

~-~

 

It's a small little shop tucked away in the mall, opened just a few weeks ago. It's one that Oikawa would've walked right past if not for the big sign hanging outside - "Agedashi Tofu - spicy volcano!!".

And so he had grabbed Hajime's arm (because they're almost always together) and pointed it out, noting it down to be visited on another day, watching on with amusement as Hajime poured over the menu for almost ten minutes. 

(Oikawa's pretty sure Hajime's a masochist, because who the heck would willingly eat extremely spicy agedashi tofu.)

(But since Oikawa's seems to be a masochist himself, and a pretty whipped one at that, he almost always ends up eating all the various tofus with Hajime anyway. 

"It's not as spicy as they claimed it was," Hajime says as he sets down his chopsticks, looking thoroughly disappointed. "Volcano spicy my ass." 

"Yes, Iwa-chan," Oikawa replies, snickering at the joke he's about to make. "I'm sure your ass is very spicy."

Hajime stops wiping his mouth to scowl at him. "You're so lame. Who laughs at their own jokes?!" 

"Me, but only when they're good quality, witty jokes. Which is all of them." Oikawa says.

"I really hate you," Hajime says, but there's something about the way he says it that sounds more endearing than loathing, like his feelings aren't congruent with his words.

(Oikawa puts down the barest flickers of hope in his chest, chides himself for assuming so much.)    

"Oi, are you gonna run off once I start talking about it again?" Hajime asks him.

"I'm with you, here, aren't I?"

"Stay here." Hajime commands, and Oikawa momentarily lets himself imagine that it's a romantic proposal.

"Okay, okay, go on." Oikawa lowers his head to stare Hajime in the eye, in a way he knows can be intense and unsettling. "Say what you have to say."

Hajime sighs at his antics, says, "I know you already know, so it'll be really great if you could stop being such a brat about it. I want to play with you. I'm probably not even going to get into med school - " 

"Are too." Oikawa mutters under his breath.

" _Not_  going to get into med school, so. So I might join the volleyball team anyway, unless I try for something equally hard, like law, or engineering, or some shit." 

"And," Hajime continues, but now his lips have twisted into a small smile, bitter and resigned. It is not a look Oikawa's seen often, but never one he's liked. "We both know that maybe I could go pro, but I'm not nearly good enough." 

"Stop saying that." Oikawa says, and he isn't joking anymore. "It's not true."

"Remember the Karasuno match?"

Oikawa freezes, because that's a subject they usually stay far away from in mutual agreement. And Oikawa definitely doesn't like Hajime's tone of voice, the mocking, bitter, self-deprecating tone that's just so out of place. 

It's something Hajime would usually yell at Oikawa for, and now that the tables have turned, Oikawa isn't sure how to react.

"The Karasuno match," Oikawa says deliberately, and it hurts just to think about it. "Wasn't yours, or anyone's fault." 

There's a moment when Hajime looks like he wants to rebut Oikawa's statement, but settles for shrugging instead, which is both unsettling and relieving. Oikawa knows that they both blame themselves, but he just isn't sure of the extent of it.

But he also doesn't want to press it, because it'll mean he'll have to talk about it, too, and maybe it's a little selfish when he knows Hajime has issues but he just really doesn't want to go there. 

"It's a hard world out there. I only got so good cuz you stay back late, so I stay back late and practice, too. I can't - I don't have the time for that in college."

"What, and  _I_  do?" Oikawa asks. "If I can do it, so can you. You've come so far already."

"Shittykawa, you're like ten times smarter than me, of course you can do it, don't lump the rest of us regular guys with you." Hajime says, rolling his eyes.

On one hand, it's nice to know that Hajime believes that he can do it, that someone has faith in him, especially if it's Hajime.

On the other hand, it sounds too much like how Oikawa feels when he's compared to Ushiwaka, of inferiority and inadequacy, and it's novel and humbling to be labelled as part of the group he so despises.

"You're plenty smart yourself, Iwa-chan," Oikawa says, and doesn't it feel weird to be the one assuring Hajime of his ability, instead of the other way around. "You can't be that dumb if you're going to be a doctor."

"Thanks," Hajime replies dryly and rolls his eyes so hard Oikawa wonders if it hurts. It's also frustrating that Hajime doesn't see himself as Oikawa sees him, doesn't believe Oikawa's assurances, doesn't believe in himself.

 _(How romantic, how cliche, how hypocritical.)_  

"And you say that with a straight face, like your grades aren't way better than mine." Hajime adds.

That's true, too, and Oikawa knows he's smart and occasionally tops his level in tests that he bothers to try (when it's not volleyball season), but even so, Hajime's grades are definitely one of the higher ones.

Both their grades had deteriorated during spring finals, which isn't surprising, but have now picked up again. And Oikawa feels fairly good about his exams, thinks he aced a few. Probably. Hopefully. 

"Anyway, my point is that I want to, but I can't. I'll have to study like shit for whatever I get into at college. I can't afford to fail."

College fees are expensive, and they're both acutely aware of the burdens they're placing on their parents.

"You're choosing not to." Oikawa says, quietly.

Hajime stares at him for a long moment, letting Oikawa's words hang in the air between them.

"I am." Hajime says. "But it's not a choice I want to make."

And it seems like reality has just suddenly kicked in and come crashing down all around him because - suddenly he's facing the prospect of being a professional volleyball player alone, and it feels like a betrayal all the same, one he never even considered but now hurts the most.

"I'm sorry," Hajime says softly, like he knows what Oikawa's thinking. 

Logically, it isn't Hajime's fault at all, he knows that, but the message just isn't getting through to his heart.

Oikawa can't bring himself to say "I understand", like he knows he should. Not now, not today, maybe not ever.

He considers laughing it off, to fake a smile he knows Hajime will see right through, but decides against it. Maybe there's something to be said for being honest, too.    

"Okay," Oikawa swallows, tries for a genuine smile instead. "Okay." 

He reaches out across the table - for what, he doesn't know - but Hajime meets him in the middle, like he always does, and they press their palms together and interlock their fingers, and it feels like a compromise, unspoken, but accepted anyway. 

 

~-~

 

Later, late at night, Oikawa is lying on his bed scrolling through instagram when he receives a message from Hanamaki.

 

_operation iwa-chan's ass_

_makki:_  hey hey oikawa

 _mattsun:_  hey hey oikawa

 _mattsun:_  guess who messaged us today

 _oikawa:_  why shld i care

 _makki:_  iwaizumi lol

 _oikawa:_  whaT

 _makki:_  he couldn't shut up about you

 _oikawa:_  TELL ME MORE

 _mattsun:_  i thought u didn't care

 _makki:_  yeah that's what i thought too

 _oikawa:_  i take it back im sorry what did he say

 _makki:_  .... u thirsty hoe

 _mattsun:_  shld we tell him?

 _makki:_  i dont know, he was so rude to us

 _oikawa:_  SPIT IT OUT ALREADY

 _mattsun:_  talk about impatient

 _makki:_  anyway

 _makki:_  so apparently he isn't going to play volleyball in college

 _oikawa:_  got that

 _mattsun:_  and he just texted us out of nowhere to ask if we were

 _makki:_ which we aren't

 _mattsun:_  and then he asked us if we thought he should

 _makki:_  and then i asked why

 _mattsun:_  and then i swear to god he just started ranting about you and would not stop

 _oikawa:_  what did he say

 _mattsun:_  well firstly he said you said that you wanted to go the same college

 _makki:_  he also said that it was just dumb, cuz you can "do so much better than that"

 _mattsun:_  dont forget the part when he said he was really glad

 _oikawa:_  hE dID??

 _mattsun:_  oh yeah he did

 _makki:_  also he was really conflicted about playing volleyball

 _makki:_  i was half-afraid he'd decide to play anyway and then flunk all his exams

 _mattsun:_  he really does want to, you know

 _oikawa:_  ... i know

 _makki:_  yeah that's about it

 _mattsun:_  i think u might have some chance now in college

 _mattsun:_  go get some

 _oikawa:_  i will try my best

 _oikawa:_  thanks guys

 _makki:_  anytime

 

Oikawa puts down his phone and scrunches up his nose before calling Hajime. It rings for a while, and Oikawa crosses his fingers because hey, who knows if it actually works, but he doesn't actually know whether he wants Hajime to pick up or not.

_"Shittykawa why are you calling me at one bloody am in the damn morning."_

Oikawa grins into his phone almost unconsciously, but quickly sobers. "I understand."

"What? Understand what?"

"It's your choice to make, to play volleyball. If you feel that you shouldn't, then don't."

There's silence on the other end of the phone, and Oikawa rolls onto his back, eyes tracing the glow-in-the-dark stars Hajime helped him paste onto his ceiling years ago.

"Who are you and what have you done to Oikawa?" Hajime asks, sounding incredulous and skeptical, even though his voice is rough from sleep, which is totally. not hot at all. "I'm not falling for it, buster. I just spoke to him like three hours ago, and that stubborn asshole doesn't change his mind so fast." 

"So little faith in me, Iwa-chan." Oikawa sighs, but not dramatically, because he feels strangely drained and empty, as if he can't muster the emotion and energy to do much else.

"You sound weird. What's up?"

"Nothing." Oikawa says, smiling a little at Hajime's sudden change in tone. Trust Hajime to pick up all the little details even through a telephone call. "Just tired, I guess."

"Then you should sleep soon, dumbasskawa." Hajime grouses. 

"Iwa-chan, that's way too long a name." Oikawa chuckles a little, curling into a ball on his side.

"I thought you liked it long."

Oikawa laughs before he can stop himself, more surprised than amused. "I should call you more often at one am, if you make more jokes like that." 

"I'm going to bash your head in shittykawa." Hajime says, but the response sounds muffled, and Oikawa has a sudden image of Hajime blushing furiously, covering his face with his hands. 

Oikawa curls into himself a little tighter, content to let the silence fill in the empty spaces, listening to the faint sounds of Hajime's breaths.

"Thanks." Hajime whispers, breaking the silence.

"What for?" Oikawa whispers back.

"For understanding." Hajime says, and he sounds so warm and grateful that Oikawa is momentarily ashamed, and flushed with pleasure. 

"Sorry for taking so long." Oikawa breathes back, thankful that Hajime can't see his face right now.

"You're such an asshole." Hajime says, but Oikawa can hear the smile in his voice, and shakes his head at Hajime and his coded messages.

"Are you gonna hang up?" Oikawa asks casually.

"You hang up."

"No you."

"You."

"I said first." 

"I said second."

"Fine."

"Fine."

They stay on the phone, neither saying anything, just listening to the rise and fall of each other's breaths as Oikawa slowly falls asleep, and for the first time in a long while, doesn't wake up crying from the fragments of a half-remembered dream.

 

✫✫✫ 

 

Oikawa's next hospital appointment for his knee is coming up, so he says in passing, "My next doctor's appointment is next friday."  
  
Hajime tears his eyes away from the television where an unidentifiable extraterrestrial mess of neon green goo is eating screaming children and asks, "Are your parents fetching?"  
  
"They have work." Oikawa replies, starts to rearrange the fragile and half-crumbling pillow fort that's collapsed around them.  
  
Hajime sighs. "The train ride is two hours long, and waiting for the appointment probably another hour, so it's probably gonna take like six hours."  
  
"Iwa-chan, you don't have to go with me." Oikawa says lightly, doesn't look up from where he pulls pillows off their backs and stacks them at the side.  
  
"I don't have to, but I'm still going to." Hajime says, the I want to going unsaid. Hajime scoots closer to Oikawa so that he isn't lying on any fallen pillows, helps to lay them all out again.  
  
They don't say anything for a while, half watching the explosions of green gloop across the tv screen and half focused on rebuilding their fort, an exercise of balancing when they were eight now an exercise of futility because there simply isn't enough space in Oikawa's bedroom to accommodate two athletic seventeen year old boys, and not enough pillows to cover more than their torsos, even after raiding Oikawa's sister's room and the living room.  
  
"It's the appointment where the doc tells you if you can go pro, right?" Hajime scoots closer against Oikawa's side, warmth seeping through the thin layers of clothing. "And makes sure your knee is healing and shit."  
  
"Yup." Oikawa says, like he hasn't worried himself sick over the doctor's final sentence of his life career, of his physical ability to continue doing what he loves.  
  
(It still sucks, though, to be unable to play, to possibly be never able to play again, when he dreamed of chasing the sun and reaching the moon.)  
  
Hajime looks at him from the corner of his eyes like he knows, but Hajime doesn't say anything, just drapes an arm over Oikawa's broader shoulders and pulls him close.  
  
Oikawa shivers and slides his hands up Hajime's back under his shirt, ignoring Hajime's yelps of "What the fuck are you doing with your hands up my shirt pervykawa" , whines that "it's warm, and my hands are cold!"  
  
Hajime puts up some token protests, but they settle down after a while, both reurning to watch the movie that has deteriorated into close-ups of the two main characters seemingly intent on eating each other's faces off.  
  
"How often do you kiss girls?" Hajime asks him, after watching two people make out on tv for more than five minutes becomes slightly awkward.  
  
Oikawa shrugs, because he kisses girls pretty damn often, has a new girlfriend almost every other week, but since he hates to lead girls on (he's not that much of an asshole), and he doesn't actually want any serious commitments, break ups are a fairly often occurrence.  
  
He doesn't hide it, but it's not something he flaunts, either.  
  
"Why?" Oikawa deflects.  
  
Hajime doesn't reply, but his expression spells slight disgust. Hajime has very strong morals, to the extent that Oikawa is constantly surprised because how can someone stay so faithful, so unwavering in the face of such a rotten world, rotten people?  
  
(It's something that Oikawa admires, looks down on and loves about Hajime, all at the same time. Hajime wouldn't be Hajime without it.)  
  
(Oikawa wonders how much worse a person he would be, if Hajime hasn't always been there to ground him, to pick him up and point him in the right direction, even if it's through somewhat violent means. He wonders about Hajime's influence on him, and his influence on Hajime.  
  
Wonders if it's a good one.)  
  
So it isn't a surprise that Hajime disapproves of Oikawa going around kissing and flirting, especially since he knows Oikawa isn't serious about it at all. And... Oikawa knows it's sort of shitty, sort of playing with the feelings of countless girls, and that he is sort of a shitty person, but watching Hajime stare fixedly at the tv with his lips pressed tight really drives the point home.  
  
So Oikawa pretends he doesn't care, doesn't notice, although it feels like Hajime can see right through his pretense when Hajime turns to look at him.  
  
"Why do you lead all those girls on?" Hajime asks, and there's nothing accusing in his tone, just curiosity. "When you know you aren't gonna settle down."  
  
"I might," Oikawa replies, which isn't untrue, but definitely isn't the reason. "I'll never meet the right one if I don't try."  
  
Hajime's expression is all pinched, and Oikawa is confused for a moment before Hajime gags dramatically, muttering, "Oh, god, I just imagined you and some poor, self-sacrificing girl together I am mentally scarred forever, this visual is never leaving me."  
  
"Imagining me buck naked and having sweet wild kinky sex must have boggled your tiny brain with hotness overload - "  
  
"Ohmygod, shut up, I really don't need all the gory details."

“You sure? Iwa-chan seems plenty interested.”

There’s silence for a while, and when Oikawa sneaks a look Hajime is blushing slightly. It makes Oikawa’s heart beat faster in a way that’s thrilling and intoxicating, and Oikawa has to force himself to look away before he’s caught staring. 

“Do you… Is it nice?" 

“What?”

“Kissing. Making out. You know.” Hajime waves a hand in the air as if to encompass all the sexual activities one can do with one’s lips.

Oikawa has to think about it, because well,  _yes_ , kissing is nice, but not the bOOm-electrical-tingles-down-my-spine-and-fireworks-in-my-lips kind of nice. Or at least not with any of the girls Oikawa has kissed so far.

“Yes, I guess? Otherwise no one would want to kiss.”

Hajime grunts, and as the both of them look back at the couple still snogging on the tv screen, find that it’s even more awkward than before.

(It’s an exciting kind of awkward, though, one that has Oikawa curling his toes and smile shivering into the pillow with delight.)

“Why, does Iwa-chan want to kiss someone?” Oikawa asks archly, disguises his burning need to know in the teasing tone.

“Is that an offer?” Hajime shoots back, and then seems shocked at himself and embarrassed to death, burying his face into a pillow and muttering. “Kill me now, please.”

Oikawa laughs because that’s just really really  _adorable_  and  _god,_  Hajime is going make his heart  _explode_ with how fast it’s beating, slings an arm and a leg over Hajime and coos into his ear, “Iwa-chan, don’t be shy, it’s good that you’re finally embracing your libido and it’s perfectly normal for someone like you to want someone like me~.” 

“Ugh, shut up, shittykawa, I know you aren’t even gay.” Hajime says, and is there - maybe - there’s something wistful and bitter in his tone? Oikawa shakes his head slightly to dispel all these insidious thoughts, focuses on the beautiful blooming of crimson across Hajime’s cheeks.

 _You make me gay_ , Oikawa thinks, resists the urge to bite Hajime’s ear shell. He settles for nuzzling his cheek into Hajime’s hair, now fully lying on top of Hajime, both arms looped around his neck.

(Oikawa is kind of surprised at himself for thinking such mushy, sappy stuff, and is then surprised at being surprised, because he thought he was long over being surprised at his sappiness when it came to Hajime.)

“Oi, you think you’re light?” Hajime wheezes out, pretending to choke and gag. “Gerrof me, you heavyasskawa!" 

Neither of them are watching the tv anymore, where the couple have finally stopped making out. Oikawa thinks nothing could be more interesting than watching Hajime, and being on top of Hajime has its merits, namely because Oikawa can stare all he wants without Hajime noticing.

He loops his arms tighter and snuggles into Hajime, noting that Hajime relaxes into his very sadly one-sided hug with a sigh.

"Don't worry, Iwa-chan, some day some girl out there may decide to pity you and you’ll find out for yourself!” Oikawa exclaims, consciously making sure there isn’t a trace of bitterness in his tone.  
Hajime snorts at that, repeats, "Some girl out there, huh?", like some hilarious inside joke that Oikawa's not  _in_  on, which is definitely a first.  
  
"Yeah, I don't think so." Hajime says. "Not happening."  
  
"Iwa-chan, you never know!"  
  
"Not happening." Hajime repeats, confident and so  _sure_  of it.  
  
Oikawa wishes he could be as certain, too.

 

~-~

 

The doctor pauses, stares at them over the rim of his thin spectacles, the lines on his forehead and around his mouth all but spelling failure.  
  
"Ah, Oikawa-kun, you mentioned that you would like to... become a professional volleyball player?" He asks, in that clinical, fake-friendly way of exasperated professionals when faced with an over-caffeinated child who has wild dreams of reaching the sky.  
  
"Yup!" Oikawa chirps, his own fake smile fixed firmly in place. He notices that Hajime is fidgeting in his seat, looking tense and angry and apprehensive.  
  
(There aren’t any butterflies in his stomach - there are fully grown butterfly monsters trying to claw their way through his intestines out of his mouth, but he won't let it show, won't cry, won't make it more difficult for Hajime. He won't be  _weak_.)  
  
So he smiles and laughs and knows he's completely over-doing the good cheer thing, but Oikawa has never been one for moderation, he goes for extremes, pushing and pushing and pushing.  
  
(He thinks he knows, anyway, that his knee is already too screwed up for anything else.)  
  
(He has learnt how hope can burn, and leave scars still not fully healed.)  
  
The doctor sighs and looks at him solemnly, and Oikawa thinks he might throw up one of those butterflies he can  _feel_ clogged up in his throat.

"You are able to go pro, if you like." The doctor says, and Oikawa is momentarily shocked and  _happy_ , before his brain registers the  _"...but_ " that's left unsaid.

 _(Oh.)_  
  
"But," the doctor continues, and his elation melts away so quickly it leaves an empty, hollow space where his heart should be. "You'll have max, one year, or two, before your knee gives out again and the damage really will be irreversible."  
  
"As your doctor, I recommend you do not overexert your knee any more than you have to, because it has just healed and is very fragile, and if you play volleyball.... well, the second time this happens, you might never walk again."  
  
There is silence in the room, and the doctor is staring at him, gaze piercing and sharp, like he hasn't just spelled the end of Oikawa's career and dreams and hopes, like he hasn't brought Oikawa's world crashing down around him.  
  
Oikawa nods because he doesn't have enough air in his lungs to give a verbal reply, dimly registers that Hajime is gripping one of his hands tightly, looking at him with concern.  
  
Well, it's not like he wasn't expecting it.  
  
(That doesn't mean it hurts any less.)  
  
They thank the doctor for his time and it’s like all the butterflies have died with a  disappointment so potent that it’s left nothing but emptiness in his gut, and Oikawa smiles and says that of course, he will take the doctor's advice, of course he will.  _Of course.  
_  
And then they're out of that cramped sterile blindingly  _unbearably_  white room and Oikawa can finally breathe again, and he does so in great shaky gasps, clutches Hajime's hand tighter, as tight as he can, as if he can anchor himself down with this contact.  
  
"Tooru.” Hajime whispers, stops them at the waiting room outside, waits for Oikawa to stop hyperventilating and compose himself.  
  
"That was expected." Oikawa says, laughing a little. It comes out all gaspy and sad, a sound that's trying to be light but failing. "I'm not surprised."  
  
Hajime suddenly moves to hug him, strong arms sliding around his torso and pulling him close. Oikawa stiffens slightly in surprise but loops his arms around Hajime's neck, buries his head in the crook of Hajime's shoulder.  
  
(It's uncommon to see displays of affection in public in Japan, especially if it's between two men, but people ignore them politely,  _thank god_ , he can’t deal with anything right now.)

(It’s a hospital, everyone is probably in need of a little comfort, and he must look like he needs a lot.)  
  
Hajime's warmth only serves to make it harder to keep his tears in, so he pulls away, and maybe he's just desperate and in denial, says, "So, I can still play for a year or two, right?"  
  
Hajime doesn't say anything, watching him with green eyes knowing and sad. He doesn't have to say anything.  
  
_"I can still play."_  Oikawa says.

“I can…” Oikawa trails off, and he exhales, body sagging and shoulders hunching, head drooping low.

_(I can’t.)_

It is defeat.  
  
"C'mon, let's go home." Hajime says, and there's nothing but gentle fondness in his eyes as he takes his arm and leads him through the endless, winding corridors of this place of sickness and death.  
  
Oikawa grips Hajime tightly, never letting go, even once they're out of the hospital, trusts Hajime to bring him home, to lead him and to guide him, even when Oikawa has gone from gazing at the sky to staring numbly at the ground, especially when there's nothing left in the sky, not even hope.

 

✫✫✫

 

So, at this point, Oikawa has mostly gotten past wallowing in self-pity (really!!) and while he doesn’t think it’ll ever stop hurting with every passing day that he’s pining away for Hajime, he’s at least learnt to bear it, to live with it and to take it with his chin held high, even if he sometimes can’t stop the tears from dripping off.

(He won’t say he got  _used to_  it, because having your heart broken isn’t something you can possibly  _get used to_ , isn’t something that anything can ever heal, not even time.)  
  
And Oikawa knows that he's running out of time. He knows, he  _knows_  it, don't fight him on this because he can feel it in his gut. 

He isn't a dumb guy, and once past the initial bitterness, he can admit freely to himself that yes, Hajime is pretty darn handsome with an toned body to match, he's nice to people who don't go by the name "Oikawa Tooru", dependable and sincere and just, well,  _good_ , and Oikawa could go on listing all of Hajime's good traits for a year and a half and still not be done.

In short, Hajime's quite the catch. And once they go college, girls will definitely start taking notice, and then Hajime will probably get himself a girlfriend (more like he'll be obliviously guided into a relationship), and then... and then Oikawa really will have no chance at all.

(Oikawa has never kissed Hajime; it’s something that’s been niggling and bothering him for  _years_  and every time he looks at Hajime he burns with the need of  _knowing_.)

And yeah, so what if Oikawa kisses ten different girls on a daily basis? The only one he wants to kiss is Hajime, and damned if he lets Hajime go without at least sating a decade long curiosity to find out what Hajime tastes like. 

So he pulls himself together and tells himself firmly that right now, when they’re in this static in-between period of not quite high school but not yet college students, is the perfect, best,  _only_  time. The time has come for him to… make a move. 

(Not that he  _hasn’t_ been hitting on Hajime since he first learnt the existence of pick-up lines and flirting, but rather more pronounced flirting since Hajime is as dense as a rock.)

Oikawa's pretty pleased with his plan on Getting To Kiss Hajime which he spent a grand total of five minutes formulating, and decides to put it into action as soon as possible.

Which is in the next two seconds, because he  _really_  doesn’t have much time left, and what use is there in waiting?

 

~-~

 

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa says, as they're once again seated in a cozy booth at Katane bakery because the milk bread there really is pretty darn good and apparently inspires really brilliant impromptu plans, and Hajime likes the coffee there so it has quickly become a place they frequent.

Hajime grunts and sips at his coffee, not looking up from his phone, which is honestly just  _vexing_ and  _impolite_  and  _so typical._  

"Iwaa-chaaan!" Oikawa whines. "Look at me!" 

He has to follow his plan, and he needs Hajime's full attention for this. There’s a familiar feeling of apprehension and anticipation, like he’s about to play against a strong opponent and they’re waiting to warm up, all trapped energy and tingling fingers, impatient to start and impatient to win.

(But this, this is so much more important than most matches he’s played so far. 

 _Please,_ he prays.  _Please, just let me win, just this once._ )

"What?" Hajime sighs, putting his phone to look at Oikawa. 

"I think I might be gay!" Oikawa says brightly, and Hajime spits out his coffee all over the table.

Oikawa giggles, too loud and too high, but it’s startled out of him and genuine in a way that Hajime somehow always manages to tease out of him.

"Eww, gross Iwa-chan!" Oikawa says as he quickly takes a napkin to swipe the coffee before it can fall onto the floor. "I know you’re excited, but  _really_.”

"No." Hajime says, and his face contorts interestingly like he's bitten on a particularly sour lemon. "No way, you gotta be kidding me." 

Oikawa is suddenly struck with the thought of  _oh god what if Hajime is a homophobe ohmygod_  and he can  _feel_ his smile melting into a puddle of worry on his face, his stomach dropping to somewhere two thousand miles below sea level and fingernails biting sharp into his palm because  _he’s such an idiot why the heck had he never thought of this what if Hajime is grossed out and disgusted and_  -

"Hey, no, sorry, I didn't mean it that way." Hajime says, evidently realizing what’s going through Oikawa’s head, reaches a hand over the table to take Oikawa’s hand and pry his nails out of his skin, rubbing circles into his palm in what’s a reassurance and an apology. "I'm fine with it, it's just - what the fuck you literally kissed girls since you were thirteen and now you say you're gay?! You have had  _hundreds_ of girlfriends and kissed  _so many_ of them and god, why the heck would you do that if you don’t even like girls!”

"Okay… maybe not like full out  _gay_  gay, but… well, definitely not straight." 

Hajime stares at Oikawa, and there's something weird about his expression, something that’s disbelieving and bitter and hopeful all at once. Oikawa expected Hajime to be surprised, but probably not very affected, continuing on with life because that’s what Hajime  _does_ , solid and unshakeable in his support.

“When did you realize? – how? Was it a  _oh shit that guy is hot oh shit I’m gay_ sort of realization?” 

“It was…” Oikawa trails off and frowns. Damn. He hadn’t thought of that. And evidently saying  _oh I’ve just always known that I have a mega huge gay crush on my best friend for the last ten years_ would not be a good idea, so Oikawa says, “Sort… of? It’s more like… I’ve thought about it, and being with a guy doesn’t disgust me at all. It’s more like… a person’s gender doesn’t matter that much to me. It’s their personality, what they’re  _like,_  how much I like them – that’s what’s important, what matters. So I wouldn’t care if my love was a guy or a girl. I’d love them anyway.”

Oikawa flushes slightly after laying himself bare like that, but it’s true. And if he was going to be honest about his sexuality preferences, he’s glad it’s Hajime.

Hajime smiles at him, looking happy and – and _proud_ , says, “Yeah. Yeah, I agree. I’m glad you think that way.” 

Hajime doesn’t have to say  _I’m glad you’re not superficial_ , because they both know it already, know that no matter how much Oikawa cares about his looks, he cares for much, much more than that, isn’t some shallow pretty guy only looking at people’s surfaces.

“Is that gay?” Oikawa asks, and Hajime snorts, saying, “That’s definitely gay.”

 _Are you gay?_ Is at the tip of his tongue, but Oikawa swallows it down hastily, doesn’t want to hear the truth, doesn’t think he could bear it.

(There was once, a year ago, Oikawa had asked Hajime if he was gay. Hajime had spluttered but denied it furiously, and beneath Hajime’s embarrassment, Oikawa could tell Hajime was telling the truth, that Hajime isn’t gay.) 

(It  _hurt_ , even though Hajime wasn’t even rejecting him, not intentionally, anyway. Hajime had unknowingly rejected all the unexplored possibilities of them ever being together, had rejected  _them._  It hurt, and Oikawa wasn’t going to put himself through it again.)

“Let me get this  _straight_ ,” Hajime says, and Oikawa snorts. “You like girls, but you  _also_  like guys.”

“Yep!” Oikawa confirms, then backtracks. “Wait, I’m not really sure about the liking guys part, but I  _think_ so?”

“So you don’t actually know if you like guys or not.”

 _I sure as hell do,_  Oikawa almost says, but stops himself.

“I haven’t  _tried_  anything yet.” He says instead, heart starting to beat like crazy in his chest. “But I would totally try kissing a guy right now, but I don’t even know if I like it so I want to find out, but I have a lack of willing participants, as unimaginable as that sounds – “

Oikawa gulps, cuts off his rambling and squeezes Hajime’s hand hard, plastering what he hopes to be a charming and nonchalant smile on his face.

“Would you like to?”

Hajime stares at him, expressionless and not reacting, and Oikawa mentally kicks himself and curses his  _stupid stupid plan look where it got him talk about falling flat._

“What.” Hajime says, and it’s a bit like Hajime isn’t processing his words.

Oikawa swallows, and tries again, makes his voice light and breezy. 

“Kiss. So I can, you know, find out if I like kissing boys.” Oikawa grins, pretends that he isn’t currently dying of nervousness and nonexistent sexual tension. “I mean, only a lucky few get to kiss me! Iwa-chan should consider himself extremely fortunate~”

The last part was tacked on almost reflexively, because little jabs and banter made up most of their conversation, anyway, so it’s comforting to fall back into familiar territory. 

It seemed to have worked, because Hajime scowls, and his ears are turning red  _that is so adorable_  as he splutters, “Shittykawa! You - !”

Oikawa wants to close his eyes and accept his imminent death and curses his stupidity for the final time for actually  _doing this did he actually think it would work._

“I – “ Hajime flushes so hard his whole face is turning red. “wouldn’t mind.”

Oikawa is pretty sure his jaw drops then, and has a brief moment of concern for his hearing because it  _very obviously isn’t working_ but then Hajime is staring at him with an intensity and a sincerity that makes his toes curl in his shoes.  _Oh._

“But I, um,” Hajime stutters. “probably wouldn’t do it very passionately.”

Oikawa stares. 

“I mean, you should probably find someone else if you  _really_ want to find out what kissing a guy is like, you know.” Hajime is still stumbling on, and then his eyes narrow with an anger born of embarrassment, and he kicks Oikawa under the table, exclaims, “Say something, damnit!” 

Oikawa laughs.

(Which, in hindsight, is not one of the better reactions especially when faced with an embarrassed Hajime, especially when desiring a continued existence. But then again, Oikawa doesn’t have the best self-preservation instincts, especially when it concerns Hajime.)

(But of course, this realization only comes  _in hindsight_.)

Oikawa squeaks as Hajime stomps on his foot, really really hard. Hajime usually isn’t so rough, his punches and shoves more for show than with actual strength, but this time Oikawa thinks Hajime is actually trying to make a crater in the floor.

“Damnit, shittykawa, that was a joke, wasn’t it?” Hajime says, and there’s real anger in his voice now, along with darker emotions that Oikawa would really rather not examine too closely because just  _hearing_ it cuts him to the core. “I should have known, you fucker – “

“No, no! Iwa-chan, serious! I wasn’t joking!” Oikawa says hastily, moving his feet out of range just in case. “I’m entirely serious.”

And he is. Because it’s his last chance at, well, Hajime, and he isn’t going to give it up.

“Then why’d you laugh?”

“I guess… I’m just really, really happy.” Oikawa says, smiles at Hajime so widely it hurts, eyes screwed up and dimples showing, because he can smile ugly in front of Hajime, because Hajime has already seen him at his worst. 

“Oh.” Hajime says, then softer. “I’m glad.”

Oikawa suddenly jumps up and drags Hajime out of his seat. He’s practically jittery with excitement and anticipation and dread all wound tight in his gut, twines his fingers tightly with Hajime to make sure his hand doesn’t shake. 

“Come on, come on, let’s go already!” Oikawa says, and for once Hajime isn’t grumbling, but walks beside Oikawa as they pay the bill and almost run out of the café.

“Oi, shittykawa, not today.” Hajime says suddenly, and Oikawa very nearly deflates.

“What? Why?" 

“I promised my mom to help her clean up the house today. Plus, we should, uh, do… it when we’re sleeping over. Which we could, like, tomorrow.” Hajime rubs the back of his neck and talks to the ground, and Oikawa bends sideways to drink in the red blooming across Hajime’s tanned cheekbones.

Oikawa gives in to his desire to ruffle Hajime’s hair, but stops before he loses control and tries to steal a kiss right in the middle of the street. He does have some modicum of self-control, after all.

“Why do we have to wait until Friday?” Oikawa is frustrated and impatient and he  _wants it now_ , after waiting for so long.   

“We shouldn’t… rush it.” Hajime says, and he’s blushing furiously again, though less pronounced than in the café.

“Oh? Like the sex ed teachers who tell us to ‘take it slow, kids!’?”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“But we don’t have to! We can just – “

“Don’t kiss me like one of your girls, asshole!” Hajime hisses, and Oikawa blinks. “Do you want this?”

“…Yes.” Oikawa says, and he’s completely, utterly serious, leans in close so Hajime can see his sincerity. “I want this.”

_(I want you.)_

“If you want to do this, we do it slow. I don’t want to rush into anything and then regret it later.” Hajime tells him, and he stares Oikawa right in the eye, chin titled up slightly because Oikawa is that much taller.

 _The perfect kissing gradient,_ Oikawa thinks hazily.  _Is five cm. We’re exactly five cm apart, down to the millimeter. Perfect._

Hajime sounds so serious, like they’re starting a relationship, and not just a kiss. A platonic kiss. Can a kiss be platonic? Oikawa doesn’t know, but he’s pretty sure the one he’ll be giving to Hajime won’t be.

(And he’ll  _never_ kiss Hajime like “one of his girls”, because Hajime is so, so much more than that.)

“Okay.” Oikawa agrees, and hopes Hajime knows that he’s genuinely agreeing, not just conceding unwillingly. “If you want to, we can take it slow. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Thanks.” Hajime says, a surprised but happy smile curling the edges of his mouth, before it disintegrates into a smirk. “Besides, you know what they say. Good things come to those who wait, eh?”

“What sort of…  _good things?_ Iwa-chan, I thought we’re only kissing! But if you want more than that, I wouldn’t mind~~”

“Pervykawa, you need to up your flirting game. It ain’t working.” 

“Pretty sure it already did.” 

Hajime flushes at that, voice going low as he whispers, “Slow, remember?”

“So, no dick tomorrow?” Oikawa grins cheekily, half-joking. The other half of him is traitorously hopeful and utterly serious.

“Not  _tomorrow,_  definitely.” Hajime says. “We’ll need condoms for that, and we haven’t got any.”

Oikawa nearly walks into a pole because he’s too busy staring at Hajime, so Hajime has to yank him to the side, or rather,  _into_ his side, which definitely isn’t an unwelcome change of position.

“We can get some.” Oikawa tries not to sound too hopeful, too excited, tries for teasing and light, doesn’t think it succeeds because it comes out still too breathy and fast.

“Maybe some other time, impatientkawa.” Hajime chuckles, but there’s still a hint of promise, a hint of hope, and Oikawa grasps on tight like a drowning man, anchoring himself to it firmly. 

(He doesn’t quite believe though, that Hajime has agreed, that Hajime’s still agreeing, seems open to all the unexplored possibilities, the previously uncharted and blocked roads now being tentatively upon.)

(Yes, something has definitely changed with Hajime, but Oikawa sure isn’t complaining.)   

“So, Friday?” Hajime asks again, hesitant and hopeful, too, staring at Oikawa shyly? – coyly? – but Hajime isn’t either of those things, so Oikawa brushes the thought aside.

“Friday.” Oikawa confirms, and it’s a date and a promise and a dream come true, seemingly endlessly far away but there is infinite comfort to be found in the knowledge that it is happening, and it is  _real._

(Oikawa isn’t fool enough nor good enough to let Hajime slip through his fingers without a taste. He’ll have his share of Hajime, see if he doesn’t, even if they only come as goodbye kisses, reminders of unfulfilled fantasies and nothing more.)

(Nothing more.)

 

~-~

 

Naturally, Oikawa lasts a total of five minutes before bursting into the Iwaizumi household with a flourish and a bang that goes mostly ignored, aside from Hajime's muffled yells from upstairs.

"Language, Hajime!" Hajime's mother, Ayame-san, calls out as she climbs down the stairs, struggling with the vacuum cleaner.

"Ayame-san, let me help you!" Oikawa flashes her his signature lady-killer grin, quickly running up the stairs to relieve her of the vacuum.

"Ah, Tooru-kun, no need to impress me, I already know you'll take good care of my Hajime, won't you?"

"Of course!" Oikawa replies brightly, then they both proceed to ignore Hajime's indignant squawking of " _Okaa-saaaaaaan!!!!"_

"Since you're here, you might as well help out some." Ayame's smile is knowing and Oikawa flushes slightly, taking the cloth and duster from her. "Hajime's in his room."

"Thank you!" Oikawa says, then runs up the stairs two at a time upon seeing Hajime's open door.

"Oi, trashykawa," Hajime starts to say, but backpedals rapidly as Oikawa comes hurtling towards him. "No, don't you dare you -  _oof_."

It was a damn good tackle, Oikawa reflects, as his body weight and momentum sends them both crashing to the floor, turning a half somersault so that Oikawa ends up crushed under Hajime's bulk.

Dimly, Oikawa realises that they crashed right into the pile of clothes Hajime had just folded, and the soft landing is probably why he isn't currently suffering of a major concussion.

Then he looks up and sees Hajime's face and thinks a concussion is impending, anyway.

"Fuckwad - !" Hajime growls, now actively trying to crack Oikawa's ribs through sheer force, and it sure as heck feels like he's succeeding. "What the fuck, I spent ten minutes folding those clothes!"

"Iwa-chan, can't breathe - get off - " Oikawa gasps out, trying and failing to throw Hajime off, arms flailing wildly.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't strangle you right now." Hajime growls, but somewhere along the way the irritation on his face has melted into something softer, warmer.

"I'm... amazing?" Oikawa tries, squealing as Hajime ruffles his hair with excessive force.

"One last try," Hajime warns, but he's grinning sadistically and damnit, Oikawa can't take his eyes off Hajime's face. "Any last words?"

"You'll miss me," Oikawa breathes, loops his arms around Hajime's neck and pulls him downwards so they're face to face.

Oikawa can see the flecks of gold and brown in Hajime's wide green eyes, pupils dilated and staring straight at him. Hajime's warm breath ghosts across Oikawa's parted lips, a tantalizing tease of what he so desperately wants and he has to physically hold himself back from fitting their mouths together.

Oikawa can feel his breath stuttering in his chest at how amazingly  _beautiful_  Hajime is right now, arms unconsciously tightening and eyes wide and staring right back.

_(I love you so much.)_

*click*

Oikawa whips his head around just in time to see Ayame put down her phone, cooing at the picture she just took.

"O _kaa-san_!" Hajime whines, or at least as close to whining as Hajime gets. More like embarrassed to death, if he's going by the red splashed across Hajime's cheeks.

Oikawa grins.  _How cute._

"Ayame-san! Can I see the picture?" Oikawa quickly breaks free from Hajime to bound over to Ayame, peering over her shoulder at her phone.

 _Oh_.

Their noses are practically touching, lips parted and mere inches apart. He's staring at Hajime like the head over heels in love idiot he is, which is to say, blindingly smitten and dazed delight written across his features.

Oikawa mentally cringes because  _he's so goddamn obvious_ , instead focusing on Hajime in picture, who's staring at Oikawa in surprise and - and... well, probably just surprise. Oikawa likes it, though. The way Hajime's looking at him in the picture, like he's the only one in the entire universe.

There's an arm around his shoulder and Oikawa starts slightly, turning his head to find Hajime draped over him, staring at the picture. Oikawa's kind of surprised, because Hajime's isn't always the most touchy person, usually never initiating physical contact.

(But that's been changing, definitely - slowly, but gathering speed. Something's changed, something's different, but whatever it is, Oikawa hopes it stays.)

(He notices the way Ayame stares at them, amused and soft and  _knowing_ , which is unsettling yet unsurprising, because while Hajime might be the most oblivious idiot in the history of dense idiots, his mother isn't like that at all.)

"I like it." Hajime decides, and he seems past his initial embarrassment. "Okaa-san, could you send it to me?"

"Me too!" Oikawa chimes in, already deciding that he wants to use that picture as his lock screen.

"Hai, hai~," Ayame says fondly. "Okay, I'll leave you two boys to it. Don't spend too much time flirting!"

"Okaa-san." Hajime groans, pushing her out of the room. "Bye!"

Oikawa listens to the echoes of her amused laughter fade away, wraps an arm around Hajime's waist and leans in close, so that they're half-hugging.

"Iwa-chan, don't you think you're too short to be wrapping your arm around my shoulders?" Oikawa says lightly, but regrets it instantly as Hajime yanks his arm away with an irritated  _tch_.

"Assikawa, you better help me fold these clothes back since you were the one to waste all my hard work."

"Mm." Oikawa drops to the floor gracefully, pulling clothes towards him and starts the rhythmic routine task of folding. "Why does your mum want you to clean your room?"

"Going to college, and all that. Decide what to keep and what to give away. See if I have to buy new clothes."

There's silence for a while, before Hajime speaks again.

"I'm gonna miss it here."

"Me too." Oikawa agrees quietly, the fading sunlight filtering through the curtains to turn Hajime's hair brown.

"Are you serious about it?" Hajime asks. "Going to the same college?"

"Dead serious, Iwa-chan."

"Even if a better university accepts you? Would you still go to a crappy college instead of that, just to be with me?" Hajime's voice trails up incredulously at the end, tone bordering on accusing but mostly curious.

"Just to be with you." Oikawa affirms, silently daring Hajime to rebuke him.

Oikawa's decided long ago that he wants to spend his life doing something he finds joy in, no matter the pay or prestige. After all, what's the point in living a life you hate?

(Oikawa's learnt long ago that he's happiest next to Hajime, so he'll stay with Hajime, as far as he can.)

(Perhaps until Hajime gets married, because Oikawa's pretty sure he wouldn't be able to stand that.)

"I still think you shouldn't," Hajime starts, and Oikawa frowns. "But... I'm glad."

"Really?" Oikawa exclaims, more than a little surprised because Hajime isn't so forthright with his feelings.

(Hearing that makes him glad, too.)

"Why are you so surprised? Of course I'm glad." Hajime scowls over at him, but he says it like it's a given, like it's a  _fact_.

Oikawa breathes in deep through his nose and flops backwards onto Hajime's lap, noting the way Hajime's breath hitches as he stares down at him.

"Hey, get off. I can't fold clothes with you lying like this."

Oikawa grins up at him, heart beating faster in his chest, hope making his breathing quicken.

"Don't worry, Iwa-chan, I won't mind that you don't fold your clothes when we live together."

Hajime's mouth works soundlessly for a moment and isn't it just déja vù to this afternoon and Oikawa can feel cold sweat start to form on his palms and please please he  _really_  wants to live together with Hajime -

"When we live together?!" Hajime asks, voice coming out strangled and Oikawa's heart constricts painfully.

"Yeah, it'll be like a really long sleepover, don't you think? We practically live together, anyway." Oikawa says nonchalantly, as if he isn't currently dying of nervousness, as if their living arrangements are already decided and convincing Hajime is a minor inconvenience and not something he'd spent sleepless nights worrying over.

Hajime doesn't reply, continues looking at him in that dumbfounded manner, eyes all narrowed and squinty.

"Iwa-chan, it'll be fuuuuuuun!" Oikawa exclaims. "I mean, what could possibly go wrong?"

"Everything, dumbass!" Hajime yells, passes a hand over his brow in what Oikawa assumes to be a very very long suffering expression in the face of even more suffering.

"Also, are you asking me to move in with you?"

"Well," Oikawa says, "One of the main reasons I wanted to go to the same college is so we can live together!"

"Really?" Hajime's looking at him weird, intense and thoughtful, making him suddenly self-conscious, hastily tacks on, "To save on boarding costs, that is."

"Oh." Hajime says, face going blank. "Right."

Oikawa feels like he's just screwed up big time, but doesn't know how to salvage the situation, says, "Yeah. It'll be a lot cheaper if we share an apartment."

"Right." Hajime says again.

Hajime's gone all stiff under him, and the atmosphere has suddenly turned sour and awkward, unsaid words turning thick and cloying on Oikawa's tongue and clogging up his throat.

_(Does Hajime not want to live with him, does the prospect disgust him so much?)_

(It's so awkward, it's such an unfamiliar feeling with Hajime that Oikawa doesn't know what to do.)

Oikawa blinks rapidly and opens his mouth to say something, anything - but Hajime looks away and pulls out another shirt, so Oikawa sits up and they start to fold clothes in silence.

The reptitive motion is calming and an hour passes like that, emptying out Hajime's closet of unworn clothes and random trinkets, digging up the buried artifacts of their childhood.

("Their", because Oikawa recognizes almost all of the dusty objects and some are even  _his_.)

_("Iwa-chan! You stole my toy!" "No I didn't, you left it here that time you slept over in grade school, idiot!")_

And then it's time for dinner, and just before Oikawa leaves he hesitates by the door.

"Iwa-chan... "

Hajime looks at him questioningly. Oikawa closes the distance between them and grabs Hajime's hand.

"Tomorrow's still on, right?"

Because it's been more than a little weird between them since they talked about living together, and Oikawa needs the reassurance that it's still okay.

"Of course, idiot. Sorry, I just - hey, don't think that I don't want to live with you," Hajime says suddenly, fiercely, yanking Oikawa down slightly by the collar so they're looking at each other head on. "Because I do. I was just... surprised."

"Iwa-chan, if you don't have to, you know, I don't want to force you into living with me." Oikawa says somewhat petulantly, but he's sincere about it, he has too much pride to try and force Hajime if he doesn't want to.

(It hurts too much to chase after someone who has already left.)

Hajime releases Oikawa's collar (which is perpetually rumpled because it seems to be the most easily accessible article of clothing that Hajime likes to reach out and grab whenever he's pissed, which is to say, Hajime grabs his collar pretty darn often), his hand sliding down so that it's a warm weight on Oikawa's chest, right above his heart.

"Don't  _do_  that, I just said that I wanted to, right?"

Hajime smooths Oikawa's hair back with his other hand, a gesture that's meant to be teasing but still overflowing with affection. "Tomorrow. Don't forget."

_(As if I could, even if I tried.)_

"I'll try."

Oikawa steps back, and is momentarily disappointment when Hajime lets his hand fall.

"See you tomorrow." Oikawa waves a hand over his shoulder in a casual farewell as he leaves the room, and when he turns around at the bottom of the stairs, Hajime is still standing by his doorway, watching him intently, flushes and slams the door closed upon being caught staring.

( _Tomorrow_. What a word full of hope, of endless possibilities and infinite chances.)

 

✫✫✫

 

They spend most of the day curled up on the couch, drawing the curtains shut so the room is in a perpetual twilight aside from the glare of the television.  
  
Oikawa has pretty much watched every single alien or outer space movie or tv series there is, so in a stroke of genius, he decides that hey, he’d never watched that many romantic sop stories so wouldn’t today just be a great time to try?

It has, so far, not been very great, just really frikin awkward. 

“Ew, grosskawa, your movie choices suck shit.” Hajime complains as yet another couple are snogging on the screen. “They also look like they’re trying to suck each other’s faces off.”

It’s even more weird because they’re going to be doing the exact same thing later on tonight and Oikawa watches Hajime watch the screen, who besides the occasional gagging sound seems to be pretty interested.

“Iwa-chan, take notes! There’s going to be a practical later on,” Oikawa says, sniggering slightly.

“Oh, right, professor I-kiss-girls-all-the-time.”

“Apparently, I’ve upgraded to kissing boys, too." 

Hajime scowls, and Oikawa rushes to say, “Don’t be jealous! Only you!” 

“As if I’d be jealous.” Hajime huffs, crossing his arms in annoyance and looking away.

(If only Oikawa could say the same for himself.)

“Are you excited?” Oikawa asks instead. “I’m excited.”

Oikawa stares unabashedly at the corner of Hajime’s mouth, the teasing upwards tug of his lips, the way he smiles whilst turning his face away as if he’s shy to be seen smiling.

“About what?”

“Our  _kiss_.” Oikawa whispers, scandalized because  _how could Hajime forget?_ “Oh my god, did you  _forget_?”

“Idiot!” Hajime whispers back, and Oikawa doesn’t know why they’re both whispering because Hajime’s mother is upstairs and the tv would almost definitely cover up anything they might say. “As if I could, even if I tried!”

(That’s almost exactly what Oikawa was thinking the day before, so it hits him hard that Hajime feels the same, that he  _couldn’t_  forget it, and that he  _didn’t even try to_.)

“So, are you excited?”

“Well… slightly.”

“Iwa- _chan_ ,” Oikawa whines, scooting closer even though they’re practically mashed up against each other on the tiny ass couch. “ _Really_.”

“I mean… I guess? You shouldn’t expect too much, though, I’m sure I really suck at it and you should really find someone else if you really want to know – mmf.”

Hajime’s eyes widen in surprise as Oikawa suddenly covers Hajime’s mouth.

“Iwa-chan.”

Oikawa leans in close, so close that his breath ghosts across the back of his hand where it’s resting over Hajime’s mouth, which feels all kind of ticklish because Hajime’s breathing hard and warm into the palm of his hand and  _oh_.

“I chose you, remember? I’m not about to regret now.”

Hajime closes his eyes and Oikawa thinks he can feel Hajime’s smile under his hand, and when Hajime reaches up to take it off Oikawa realizes that yes, he’s right, Hajime was smiling, but he’s not hiding it anymore.

Hajime doesn’t let go of his hand for the rest of the afternoon, and Oikawa isn’t about to complain, even if his hand is damp from breath vapor and palm sweat. 

 

~-~

 

“Okay, firstly.” Hajime says, when they’ve finished with dinner, in which both of them were probably super suspicious what with all the sidelong glances and nervous tics. “I’m not doing anything until you floss and brush your teeth. I don’t want to taste your dinner.”

“Technically, it was your dinner, too.”

“I don’t want to taste it off your teeth, shittykawa. I don’t get how you can kiss all those girls just – just like that. So unsanitary. Gross.”

_(It’s a form of escapism. I kiss girls to forget I can’t kiss you.)_

“Okay, all brushed! Can we kiss now?” Oikawa is practically bouncing on his feet with a nervous excitement he’s almost forgotten since his very first virgin kiss. 

“I’m getting put off just looking at you,” Hajime says, and he’s fidgeting from where he’s awkwardly seated at the edge of his bed, the beginnings of a blush dusting his cheeks. “Oh god, I regret already." 

“Oh no, you’re not backing out on me now!” Oikawa quickly wraps himself around Hajime so that he’s unable to run away and leave Oikawa with his unfulfilled curiosity. “Heh heh heh heh.”

“I wasn’t about to back out!” Hajime protests. “Just… postpone.”

“No bailing on me,” Oikawa straddles Hajime, pinning him down by the shoulders to the bed. Then, breathless and quickly – “Hajime.”

“What?”

“Iwa-chan, you can’t!” Oikawa says, and he’s finally going to start on this particular peeve of his that’s bothered him for years. “You just  _can’t_ , not now, okay?" 

“Oikawa – what?" 

“That’s it!” Oikawa yells, pointing a finger dramatically into Hajime’s face. “You can’t call me Oikawa. Like some stranger! Like we haven’t known each other for our whole lives!”

“Like,” Oikawa’s voice drops, mindful of the parents that might be listening in just next door. “we’re not going to  _kiss._ ”  

Hajime swallows, staring up at him, the lighting making his eyes gleam an intense green.

“Okay.” Hajime says softly, bringing his hands to rest lightly on Oikawa’s hips. “But you have to call me Hajime, too.”

Oikawa gapes for a moment before drawing himself up to his full height and – “Ohmy _god_ Iwa-chan  _you_  were the one who said it was “ _too childish and sappy to be calling me hajime-chan!”_ and then you went and called me  _Oikawa_ like every other random guy and  _now_ you want me to call you Hajime?!”

“Okay, okay! If you don’t want to, then fine!” Hajime says, probably a little too loudly, scowling at Oikawa with what seems to be real hurt in his eyes. Oikawa softens and melts, just a little bit, bracing himself on Hajime’s chest.

“No – no, I meant that we should have been calling each other by our first names for, like, always. We shouldn’t ever have stopped. So I obviously still want to, yeah?”

“Oh.” Hajime says, a little surprised, more than a little pleased. “Okay.”   

“Hajime.” Oikawa breathes, testing the way Hajime’s name feels on his tongue, tingly and exciting and strange. 

There’s a heartbeat of silence, then – “Tooru.”

Oikawa hums in approval and says, “Now, can we  _please_ get to it?”

“Right. Okay.” Hajime says, and then he’s all uncomfortable awkwardness again, and Oikawa huffs out a laugh at how cute he is. 

“I’m going to lead, okay?” Oikawa asks, softly, and Hajime nods his assent with a jerk.

“Do you wanna do it sitting up or lying down?” Oikawa asks again, hands moving to trail up Hajime’s shoulder to cup his face.

“I don’t,” Hajime’s voice cracks and he coughs. “Mind. Anything." 

Hajime is full on blushing now, and Oikawa is pleased to see the way Hajime doesn’t turn away, but stares at him in the eye like he’s entranced. Probably just really embarrassed.  

Oikawa sighs. “Okay, then here’s fine. Try not to bite me, kay? I’m coming in.”

Hajime chokes at that just as Oikawa relaxes so that he’s fully splayed out over Hajime, legs entangling and Hajime’s hands wrap around Oikawa’s back instinctively.

Oikawa thinks for a moment that he hears Hajime’s heartbeat with how close they are, but realizes a split second later that it’s his own heart about to thump right out of his chest. 

Hajime is still staring at him in that weirdly intense, hazy kind of way, as if he’s half-dazed but fully focused on every single little action.

_“Tooru.”_

The name leaves Hajime’s lips flurried and fumbled and full of  _want_ , and then Oikawa is leaning in and finally,  _goddamn finally_ , closes the distance between their mouths and kisses Hajime.

Hajime’s lips are warm and wet, not sloppy wet, but a sexy kind of wet – and he tastes of minty toothpaste, as expected. Hajime’s still all stiff and Oikawa coaxes him into the kiss slowly, running his fingers through Hajime’s hair and licking into his mouth, slow and sweet and gentle.

Hajime’s eyes has drifted closed and it’s immensely satisfying to know that Hajime trusts him and is relaxed enough to close his eyes and enjoy the kiss, and Hajime isn’t even a halfway bad kisser because this is  _definitely_  one of Oikawa’s most  _enjoyable_ and  _amazing_ kiss.

Hajime gasps a bit when Oikawa runs his tongue over Hajime’s closed lips, and Oikawa seizes the chance to push his tongue further, into the hot cavern of Hajime’s mouth.

Oikawa unconsciously curls his fingers into Hajime’s hair, and Hajime in turn tightens his grip around Oikawa’s torso, bodies moving in tandem and in spurts of movement, shaky with hesitance and want. 

There’s a moment when Oikawa tries to deepen the kiss but their teeth clack together and there’s noses everywhere, Hajime snorting a laugh that’s impossibly close and swallowing up all of Oikawa’s chuckles.

Hajime makes a sound that’s somewhere between a keen and a moan, and Oikawa pulls away reluctantly, and he would never have parted if Hajime hadn’t been on the verge of passing out from lack of oxygen. 

They’re both panting hard, and Hajime’s cheeks are flushed and his eyes are shining and he’s smiling shakily, but even though he’s so obviously exhilarated he also looks kind of – sad? Regretful? Oikawa drinks in the sight of Hajime ravished beneath him, and when he shifts slightly, realizes that  _god they should have kissed sitting up after all._

Oikawa internally freaks just about the fuck out for a moment before his eyes land on Hajime’s pants – which also sports a visible bulge.  _Thank god._

Hajime follows his line of vision and squeaks, throwing Oikawa off violently and curling up to hide his blatant erection. 

“Oh fuck –  _fuck.”_

Oikawa is too busy laughing to come up with a coherent response, settles for sitting back on his heels to expose his very obvious boner.

“Oh my god.” Hajime whispers into his hands as he covers his face, completely and utterly mortified. “ _Oh my god.”_

Oikawa tugs on Hajime’s hands futilely, but can’t muster enough strength through his mirth.

“Oh my god, we can.  _Never_. Kiss in that position again.” Hajime says.

“I thought it was pretty good. Your little friend down there agrees.” Oikawa stops trying to get Hajime to look at him and instead lies across Hajime’s lap and cuddles his embarrassed-to-death best friend. “How was it?”

“It was…” Hajime seems to be weighing his words carefully, peeking out at Oikawa through his fingers. “Good.”

“Only good?” Oikawa pouts. “I’m one of best kissers there are out there, you know.” 

Hajime laughs slightly and lets his hands fall to stroke Oikawa’s hair.

“Yeah. Probably.”

“How about we try again and see if you’ll change your rating?” Oikawa puts his face right next to Hajime’s and sticks his tongue out and licks Hajime’s lips, just a quick swipe but nonetheless one that has Hajime blushing and spluttering all over again.

Oikawa’s about to dive right in again but Hajime holds him back with a hand to the chest. 

“Wait.”

Hajime takes a deep breath, green eyes piercing and suddenly serious.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

Oikawa’s heart just about stops in his chest and a thousand scenarios fly through his head – does Hajime want to stop? Was it something he did? What did Hajime do?

“I…” Hajime pauses, and his face twists with something, and he looks so conflicted but resolute at the same time. “I’m gay.” 

Relief washes over Oikawa in a tidal wave at the same time realization shoots through him like an electric shock.  _Oh my GOD._

“Iwa-chan, I knew I kissed well but - !” Oikawa squeezes out, still trying to come to terms with the fact that Hajime is actually  _gay_  and  _never_ in a million years would he  _ever_ have thought that  _god_  what the  _fuck_  that means that he has chance after all!

“No, idiot! I was… for some time…” Hajime talks to the bed. 

“What.” 

“Like… yeah.”

“And you didn’t tell me?!” Oikawa is suddenly hurt and angry and he knows it’s pretty hypocritical of him to feel this way since  _he_ didn’t tell Hajime but – but he  _thought_  Hajime would’ve told him immediately, and that’s what hurts the most.

“I was going to! And I have!”

“How long have you known?”

“Not very long at all. A few weeks.”

“I told  _you_ the moment I thought I  _might even_ be bi! And you’re  _gay_  and you don’t tell me?” Oikawa seethes, unable to keep the hurt from his voice.

He knows that Hajime isn’t someone who would voluntarily offer up information so easily, but he’d thought that they were close enough that Hajime wouldn’t have kept it a secret for so long. “I thought we were  _best friends_.”

And oh, now he has pulled the “best friend” card because he can’t  _believe_ Hajime didn’t tell him, now he has to recalculate all his not-so-subtle flirting and ramp it up a hundred times stronger.

“We are! I just… didn’t know how to bring it up." 

“Then why tell me now?” 

“I can’t let you,” Hajime says lowly, fiercely. “Go on kissing me if you thought I’m straight. Just so that you know.”

“Why would it make any difference to me?” Oikawa is honestly confused, but then he sees the way Hajime’s digging his nails into his palm, the way he refuses to make eye contact, and then it hits him all at once. 

The reluctance, the constant nagging to find someone else – it all makes sense now. 

Oikawa sees how Hajime’s insecure and afraid and his face is screwed up with  _uncertainty_ , of himself, because of what Oikawa might think, and it hits him in the gut and Oikawa gently cups Hajime’s face and tilts so that Hajime’s staring at him in the eye.

“Hajime, you  _idiot_. I am a person who is having a sexuality crisis because I think I might be gay, or bisexual, and if I  _am_ gay, which I think I am, then I’ll be looking for gay people, which means kissing gay people, so I have absolutely no problem with gay people.” Oikawa says. “You’re  _perfect_.”

And maybe it’s overdoing it a little, but Oikawa  _hates_ it when Hajime is insecure about himself, because he should  _never_ have to worry about those things, not when he’s perfect just the way it is. 

And when Hajime’s face scrunches up like he wants to cry, but won’t, Oikawa’s there to kiss the tears away and hold him through the night, most of which is spent on more kissing and whispered nothings, fading into the all-consuming darkness only to be half-remembered the next morning.

(“I love you”, Oikawa tells Hajime, when Hajime has curled up around him and fallen asleep, peppers his face with feather light kisses. It is a confession and a promise given to the night, to be forgotten by one and never to be known by the other.)

 

✫✫✫ 

 

The worst thing about school is literally that, school. Oikawa can’t believe he  _still_ has to go to school. Especially when the weekend had been so unreal, so amazing, like the space between sleeping and waking when you’re not sure if you’re dreaming.

Oikawa stayed over at Hajime’s house on Sunday too, so it’s Hajime’s alarm that blares through the room on Monday morning, loud and sharp and suddenly the most annoying sound Oikawa has ever heard in his entire life.

(Besides Ushijima’s voice saying “You should have come to Shiratorizawa”, because nothing can ever top that.)

They had spent practically the whole weekend holed up in Hajime’s room making out and talking and just passing time, enjoying and soaking up each other’s presence. Oikawa can’t remember the last time he was so happy, so content. He never wants it to end. 

“Hey Tooru, get up.” Hajime says, but his voice is all rough from sleep and husky, sending tingles down Oikawa’s spine and he curls tighter around Hajime, burying his face in Hajime’s chest and inhaling deep. 

“Noooooo,” He whines, voice wavering with something more than childish rejection. He doesn’t want to get up, to wake up and let the weekend fade into a dreamlike memory.

A brief, heavenly respite from the giant shit pile that has been his life so far, what with his knee and all. Hajime’s the one bright thing lighting up Oikawa’s life right now.

“Tooru…” Hajime’s hand moves from his back to run through his hair, soft and gentle and soothing. Oikawa almost purrs at the contact, nuzzling into his hand like a contented cat. 

“If we sleep some more, we’re going to miss morning practice.” Hajime sighs. “Not that we have to go, since we’re officially not part of the club anymore, but it’ll be nice to see the team, don’t you think? Especially since graduation is tomorrow, so this is the last practice we’ll be able to attend, cuz of that stupid assembly we have in the afternoon so we can’t go crash.”

“I’m sure seeing their captain there would lift their spirits a lot.” Hajime nudges Oikawa. “Huh, captain?”

“I’m not captain.” Oikawa mumbles, but he knows he’s losing this argument. “I chose Yahaba, so he’s the acting captain right now.” 

“Please.” Hajime says. “To the team, you’re always gonna be captain. Now get up.”

 Oikawa sighs and rolls out of bed reluctantly, because as much as he hates it, he really does want to spend as much time with his team as he can before he graduates, even if seeing a volleyball court brings back all sorts of bad memories, even if he has to watch people play the sport he won’t ever be able to touch again.

 

~-~

 

“You know, you never really told the team much about your injury, or how it happened.” Hajime pauses outside the gym doors, the familiar sound of shoes squeaking on the floor and balls hitting flesh creating a lump in Oikawa’s throat.

Oikawa shrugs. 

“You gonna tell them, or what?” Hajime asks.

“You think I should?” 

“I’m sure they’re wondering. They care about you, too.” 

Oikawa swallows, because while he  _does_ know that, it doesn’t make it any easier. “Iwa-chan, but it’s such a lame and anticlimactic reason, and I was such an idiot, and - ” 

“Hey.” Hajime interrupts softly, taking one of Oikawa’s hands in his and squeezing. “They won’t judge, you know that.”

“Yeah.” Oikawa says. “I know.”

“But it’s ultimately your choice.” Hajime says, like he thinks Oikawa will run away from this, when they both know he won’t.

“Well then, let’s get this over with.” Oikawa squares his shoulders and throws open the doors, because he’s never been above a grand entrance. 

There’s a short pause as heads swivel and players stop to turn and stare as Oikawa strolls in, Hajime half a step behind. It’s comforting to know that Hajime’s behind him, to watch his back and catch him if he falls. 

“Yoo hoo everybody, did you miss me?” Oikawa grins widely, eyes sweeping over the people who have been his second family for the past three years, the place a second home. Devotion doesn’t come cheap and leave easy, hours upon hours of dedication etched into his very bones.

The court is a place he knows better than the back of his hand, ingrained into his very being, the teammates standing on the same side of the net people he knows and understands almost better than himself.

He spots Matsukawa and Hanamaki in the midst of playing a three on three with some second years, and feels a pang of guilt because he really is pretty late to the party, isn’t he?

“Hey, captain!” Rings out from across the gym, and Oikawa sighs and smiles. Of course Hajime was right.  _Of course._

Oikawa and Hajime walk over to the benches so as to not disrupt practice, and Oikawa jerks his chin towards the courts. “Iwa-chan, aren’t you going?”

Hajime frowns and crosses his arms. “No.” 

Seeing Oikawa’s rebuttal already forming, he holds up a hand. “I didn’t even bring my gym clothes, so, no point.”

“Then, what, did you come all the way here just to  _watch_ them practice?”

“I came all the way here with  _you_ , so that  _we_ can watch them practice, and help our kouhai improve, because we’re their senpai, damnit!” Hajime whisper-yells, face menacingly close to Oikawa’s.

“Going at it already so early in the morning?”

Oikawa turns to find Hanamaki and Matsukawa standing behind them, matching lazy grins on their faces. 

“Makki, Mattsun! Iwa-chan’s such a brute, save me~~” Oikawa exclaims, and then in a show of uncharacteristic intimacy, steps forward to hug the both of them briefly.

He’s suddenly overcome by an intense wave of nostalgia, of loss and defeat and the knowledge that he’ll never, ever play this sport he loves so much again, beside these people he knows so well. Hanamaki and Matsukawa will probably be going to different universities, and he’ll definitely miss them.

“Woah, captain, careful now, Iwaizumi might get jealous.” Hanamaki smirks, but nevertheless wraps his arm around Oikawa tightly. “About time you got your ass here." 

“I’m betting Iwaizumi dragged his ass here, more like.” Matsukawa chimes in.

“What else did Iwaizumi do to your ass?”

“Damn, Taka, not when there’s children around.”

“Wait,  _Taka_?!” Hajime cuts in, incredulous. Hanamaki and Matsukawa reach over to hold hands, looking inordinately pleased with themselves.

“Didn’t we tell you?” Matsukawa says. “We’re dating.”

 _OMFG WTF_ is the extent of Oikawa’s rational thinking.

“About time!” Oikawa laughs, despite the fact that he’s still internally shocked. “You two have practically already been dating for the past three years. The sexual tension was killing me.”

“You’re one to talk.” Hanamaki drawls, giving them suggestive looks. “ _We_ don’t live next door, or have sleepovers practically every other day, or walk to school and from school together, or have  _pet names –_ ”

“Oh my god.” Hajime growls, flushing. “Shut up.”

“Aww, Iwa-chan!” Matsukawa says in a sickening high pitched voice that has Oikawa flushing.

“Shittykawa!” Hanamaki growls deeply.

“You don’t have to be so jealous.” Hajime deadpans, but then softens and smiles at them. “But, congrats. I wish you happiness in your relationship.”

“And a lot of orgasms.” Oikawa adds, cackling. “The real question is, who bottoms?" 

Then Hajime whacks him over the head and drags him away, and Oikawa turns around to catch Matsukawa winking at him as Hanamaki flushes.

They spend the rest of morning practice watching the team play, occasionally giving comments and encouraging remarks. Oikawa’s really glad he came, and he feels nothing but pride when he watches the first and second years polish their skills, still practicing as hard as ever without any sign of flagging spirit. 

“I really was an idiot, wasn’t I?” Oikawa murmurs to Hajime as the rest are finishing cleaning up the gym.

“Yeah.” Hajime replies, but not vindictively or triumphantly, just a confirmation of fact. “Yeah, you were.”

Oikawa snorts, and Hajime touches his hand lightly.

“But that doesn’t matter now, because you’re not one anymore.” Hajime continues. “Make sure the team knows that too, yeah?”

Hajime holds out his fist, eyes sparkling with pride and warmth. “Show the team what you’ve got.”

“Yeah.” Oikawa touches his fist to Hajime’s, holds it there for a few seconds too long. “I will.”

The team is gathered at the back of the gym, waiting. Oikawa strides to the front and spreads his arms dramatically.

“I know I’m not your captain anymore, but I reserve the right to say a few words and make you late for morning assembly!” He announces, and grins at the shaken heads of familiar exasperation and snorts.   

“After graduation, I’m definitely still going to come back and visit so you all better not slack when I’m gone! Yahaba, make sure you work them to the ground.” 

Yahaba nods as the rest of the team groans.

“If I could, I’d want to play one last game with you guys.” Oikawa sighs. “But sadly, I can’t ever play volleyball again.”

Oikawa makes an effort to keep his smile in place, but it still turns slightly bitter at the edges despite his best efforts. The team simply looks shocked, and Oikawa’s gut twists and he feels like puking.

“Physically unable to, because of my knee.” Oikawa forces on. “But this is important! Remember! Losing a match isn’t the end of the world. It doesn’t matter if you fall, as long as you get back up. So I want all of you to get back right up and win next year!.”

“And I should have said this a long time ago, but I guess better late than never.” Oikawa says. “I believe in all of you.”

There are some smothered smiles and huffs of what might be mistaken as laughter, and Hajime places his hand on Oikawa’s back, just holding it there, a reminder, a support.

“I want to thank all of you for these three years. For being the best teammates I could have ever asked for. For all our games, won or lost.” Oikawa bows his head, but he’s completely calm, in control.

“I believe in all of you, that you will continue to rule the court, and be the best that you can be. I believe that  _you can do it_ , so  _never stop trying_ , okay?” Oikawa says, and there’s raw emotion in his voice, flaring flaming fire of passion burning in his eyes. 

“Yes!” The team roars, and Oikawa yells over the noise. “I’ll be coming back to cheer you on at nationals!”

And then they’re tearing out of the gym because they really are late to morning assembly but they’re laughing and shouting and maybe some are crying, and some aren’t, but it’s lost to the wind as they race on together, forwards -  _onwards_.  

 

~-~

 

“Urgh, Kimura-sensei must’ve scolded us for half an hour.” Hajime complains as they walk towards the hall where there’s an assembly for the third years. They’re late to enter because  _man_ , the sensei had been extensive in his displeasure of the “volleyball club’s unruly conduct and unacceptable behavior!”

Hajime and Oikawa had gotten the worst of it because “as leaders, you bear responsibility for the team’s actions!”, even though they weren’t the acting captains. 

“We weren’t even yelling  _that_  loud.”

“But it was worth it,” Oikawa says, turning to look at Hajime, eyes shining. “Wasn’t it?”

Kimua-sensei also had a lot to say about Hajime’s school attire, namely that he wasn’t even wearing the vest and it was all sloppy and rumpled.

It’s something that has irked Oikawa for the longest time, because Oikawa wears  _his_  uniform pristinely perfectly, but it’s almost more annoying that Hajime just looks so  _hot_  with his sleeves all rolled up and shirt untucked, tie hanging loose around his neck.

“Duh.” Hajime replies, grinning back. Then he groans when they reach the school hall because Hajime isn’t a fan of sitting for long periods of time, isn’t one to follow school regulations.

Not that Oikawa  _is_ , but he makes it  _seem_  like he does, because he’s always been the teacher’s pet and wants to continue his record of zero detentions so far, thank you very much.

“Can’t we just skip this?” Hajime groans as they discreetly take seats at the back of the hall, and Oikawa notices that besides the teacher up front, there’s no other adult in the hall. “I’m too tired to listen to some guy talk for three hours.”

“Aww, Iwa-chan, you tired?” 

Hajime scowls. “ _Someone_ was being extremely distracting yesterday night. I barely slept at all.”

“But it was worth it, right?” Oikawa grins.

“Hmm.” Hajime returns his grin teasingly. “Debatable.”

Oikawa mock gasps loud enough that the people sitting around them turn to stare, and Hajime swats his arm hard.

“Shittykawa, don’t be so loud!” Hajimes hisses, and Oikawa notes that Hajime doesn’t tell him to shut up. “How about we ditch this dumb talk?”

“And go make out somewhere?” Oikawa can’t keep the hopeful tone out of his voice, because kissing Hajime in  _school_  would be all sorts of exhilarating and exciting. “I’m not skipping with you unless we make out."

“Are you trying to  _dissuade_  me from skipping?” Hajime says, but sighs, smiling a little. “But fine. I just want to get out of here.”

(Usually, when one of them proposes something stupid or rebellious, it’s an unspoken rule that the other will try to be the voice of reason and reject it, because they both sometimes make dumb decisions so it’s up to the other to forestall it.)

“Okay.” Oikawa says, and Hajime looks surprised for a moment. “Let’s do it.”

(Recently, however, Oikawa’s libido has been extremely vocal and overrides any descisions his brain might make.)

“Are you serious?” Hajime hisses, more surprised than anything.

“Yep!” Oikawa replies. “Besides, it was your idea, wasn’t it?” 

“Oh my god.” Hajime says, then glances furtively around. “What if we get caught?” 

“Iwa-chan, we’re literally one day away from graduation what’s the worse they can do? Expel us?” Oikawa says, then pauses. “Actually, I hope they expel us because I don’t wanna go school tomorrow.”

“Sneaking out of a talk won’t get us expelled, dumbass.”

“Anyway, here’s the plan. We wait until the teacher in front turns to look away, and then we run.”

“Back door or side door?”

“Back door. Less noticeable.”

“If anyone asks, we’re going to the toilet.”

“Got it.”

There’s silence for a while as Oikawa stares at the teacher, willing him to look at the projector.

“I can’t believe you’re actually agreeing.” Hajime whispers. “What happened to your record of no detentions at all?" 

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whispers back. “There are always more important things. Now!”

The teacher turns around to trace a graph of the projector and Oikawa bolts out of his seat and runs lightly to the back doors of the hall, which is literally two strides away. 

Adrenaline is pumping through his veins as Oikawa bursts out of the hall into the cool fresh air, not stopping his furious dash but turning around to make sure Hajime’s close behind.

He’s laughing, but quietly, the kind of laughter that doesn’t have to be heard to be happy, reaches out behind him to grab Hajime’s hand and pull him forward so they’re running side by side.

Oikawa rounds a corner and almost immediately throws himself back again, because he almost slammed right into Kimura-sensei’s back and he  _really_  doesn’t need another hour-long lecture from that man. 

They go by another route and finally make it to the empty third year classes, slamming the door shut behind them.\

Oikawa leans against the wall as he laughs, the breathless, chuckling gaspy huffs of air that’s as much breathing as laughing.

Hajime is laughing, too, and without thinking about it, Oikawa leans in and kiss him, feels the smile on Hajime’s lips and tastes the surprised gasp that comes out. 

(He loves it so much, how he can now kiss Hajime whenever he wants. This freedom, it must surely be happiness.)

Hajime leans into the kiss, pinning Oikawa to the wall, which does all sorts of things to his libido and he might just have discovered a new Hajime related kink, but then his knee twinges in pain and he winces, pulling away.

“Is your knee okay?” Hajime asks, presses gentle fingers to the knee supporter Oikawa wears all the time. “We did a lot of running today.”

“How about you kiss it better?” Oikawa breathes, looping his arms over Hajime’s shoulders and around his neck, pulling him in close and hugging tight.

“What if someone catches us?” Hajime hisses.

“No one will!” Oikawa rebukes. “Assembly will be for another two hours!”

“Imagine if we get caught.” Hajime chuckles. “Immediate expulsion. Making out in the classroom with a  _boy_.”

Oikawa shivers because he might just have an exhibitionist kink as well, and the  _way_  Hajime says it, low and husky is just almost  _lewd_.

“Although you’ll have more to lose, since you’ve got a fanclub and all.” Hajime goes on, pressing Oikawa harder into the wall. “How would they react when they find out their idol is  _gay_?" 

“Iwa-chan, as much as I love it when you talk dirty to me,” Oikawa starts to say, because he sees great potential for dirty talk in bed and Hajime is apparently not overly opposed to it. “It’s so unbecoming when you’re jealous!”

“Fuckin’ asshole.” Hajime mutters, and then crashes their mouths together in a sloppy kiss that’s both overwhelmingly amazing yet  _not enough_.

(Oikawa is always craving  _more_ , like in volleyball, an insatiable need to  _be better_  and  _win more_.

It is the drive that pushes him to work hard, to work himself to the bone, to the death if necessary, but no matter how much he has achieved, he’ll never be satisfied.)

“You’re still such an amateur at this.” Oikawa sniffs after they pull away, gasping for breath. He slides down the wall, pulls his knees to his chest and rests his hand in his hands. 

There’s a strange swirl of emotions in his chest, and while there’s definitely happiness, there’s also a strange, inexplicable sadness, like watching a beautiful bright sparkler burn before it dies out.

He thinks maybe it’s because they’re graduating so soon, or because out of everyone, he knows how short-lived happiness can be.

“Hey.” Hajime sits next to him, careful and gentle. “You okay?”

Oikawa doesn’t reply, because there isn’t anything to say, and Hajime hugs him from the side, fully enveloping Oikawa in his embrace.

(Safe and warm and content, that’s how Oikawa would describe Hajime, how he’d describe home.) 

Oikawa sighs, a release of pent up frustration that leaves his body sagging.

“Hey, Iwa-chan, if I hadn’t wanted to kiss, would you have ever told me you were gay?” 

“Of course! You would still be the first person I’d tell.”

( _How long?_ Oikawa wants to ask.  _Before you’d tell me, if I hadn’t pushed.)_

“Then you know how you said you couldn’t let me kiss you without me knowing you were gay?” Oikawa asks. “If it bothered you so much, why didn’t you tell me  _before_ we kissed?” 

Oikawa turns his head to look at Hajime, but Hajime buries his head in Oikawa’s shoulder, mumbling something into the fabric.

“What? I didn’t hear that.”

“I said,” Hajime looks up to meet Oikawa’s gaze, ears turning red. “That I was scared you wouldn’t want to kiss after you knew, - ” 

Oikawa’s eyes widens in realization.

“- but I wanted to kiss you, obviously, dumbass.” 

It’s moments like this, all wrapped up in Hajime, both literally and metaphorically, that gives Oikawa hope, of a future that might actually be.

Oikawa grins because Hajime’s single line has made warmth bloom in his chest, sending heat to his cheeks and light to his eyes. 

Oikawa chances a look at Hajime, and learns that Hajime’s eyes are unfairly attractive, gray-green in the slanting afternoon light, soft and beautiful and staring right back at him.

“Iwa-chan, are you sure you’re gay?”

(Just to reaffirm the fact, to rekindle his hope. It is all powerful, all knowing.)

Hajime scowls. “What kind of dumb question is that?”

“How did you find out?”

Hajime stiffens, and Oikawa can tell he’s going to lie by the way he bites his lip in thought.

“I just… it’s like you. I decided that personality matters the most? I don’t know.”

“So you’re bi?" 

“I guess? I’ve never kissed a girl before, so I wouldn’t know.”

“Iwa-chan, you had your first kiss at seventeen, you’re going to be forty before you kiss a girl.”

And then Hajime flushes, and Oikawa thinks it’s in anger, but then Hajime says, “What makes you think that was my first kiss?”

Oikawa gasps.

“What?!”

“Friday wasn’t my first kiss, dumbass.”

Oikawa is struck by a sudden sense of betrayal because that means Hajime has kissed someone before, and  _didn’t tell him._

“When was it?” Oikawa asks, and his tone is flat and bland because he so desperately wanted to have been Hajime’s first, wants to be Hajime’s everything.

“Oi, shittykawa, what’s up with you?” Hajime says, leaning back to look at him. “Don’t tell me you forgot!”

“You never told me you kissed anyone before!” Oikawa says, face screwing up as he turns away.

“Oh my god, you asshole.  _You forgot_.” Hajime says, voice strangled.

“No I didn’t!”

“You know why I’m not even that surprised that you’re gay? You fuckin kissed me when you were all of seven years old!”

“I… what?" 

“You were chattering on about how adults do it all the time and you were curious because you saw it on tv… or some shit like that, and then you just kissed me out of nowhere.” Hajime says in a rush. “And I can’t believe you just went and forgot.”

( _Good going_ , Oikawa internally praises his seven year old self.  _It took me ten years to do it again.)_

“Oh.” Oikawa says, and then he smiles slightly. “So I  _am_ your first." 

“Idiot.” Hajime snuggles in close, breath ghosting across Oikawa’s ear. “You’re probably my first for everything.”

( _You’re my everything and my first.)_

Oikawa hums in pleasure, feeling kind of ridiculous for being so ridiculously happy.

(Being in love, he has learnt, has changed his whole world. Being in love, he learns, changes everything.)

 

~-~

 

It's almost natural that Oikawa follows Hajime home again, to his room and then to curl around each other on the bed. 

It's almost scary how quickly he has gotten used to this - this new thing of theirs, this new relationship and making out and kissing and the way they're suddenly so much closer. 

Not that they weren’t close before, because Hajime has always been the closest person to Oikawa, but now it's different because it feels like Oikawa's the closest person to Hajime, now, too.  

It's nice.

It's nice to be able to reach out and just intertwine their fingers together, to lean forward and kiss Hajime, after so long of not being able to. 

Oikawa is high on happiness and elation. He wants to confess, but he never wants to do anything that might risk endangering this relationship. 

He tells himself not to be greedy, not to go too far, because he's already done that for volleyball and lost  _everything_ , he isn't going to make the same mistake, no, he'll take what he can get.

He respects Hajime, and he’ll follow the lines Hajime draws.

"Tomorrow is graduation, huh?" Hajime murmurs, stroking Oikawa's hair gently. 

"The years really flew by." Oikawa says, then pauses. "But the days themselves were long."

Hajime hums in agreement. "Any regrets?" 

"That I didn't kiss you earlier." Oikawa whispers, catching Hajime's hand in his to press a kiss to the inside of his wrist, eyes never leaving Hajime's face.  

Hajime blushes as he rolls his eyes almost violently. "Seriously, though. Regrets?"

But that really was one of Oikawa's main regrets, and the rest are ones he'd rather not say aloud so he shrugs, eyes going distant and bitter. "Of course. So many regrets. Too many." 

Hajime nods but doesn’t comment, hands trailing down to Oikawa’s knee and resting there. 

They cuddle like that for the rest of the day, and then the night, and then, too soon, yet not quickly enough, it’s graduation day, and Oikawa finds himself seated in the hall listening to the principal make a speech. 

There’s a strange mix of nostalgia and bitterness for all the things he could have done, but didn’t, all the things that shouldn’t have been, but were, all the  _not good enough_ s and  _nearly there_ s clogged up in his throat, an unforgiving ball of shame and defeat.

(Hajime reaches over to grasp his hand, gesture almost hidden under the long sleeves of their formal uniform, and if the pressure and warmth and reassurance of Hajime’s presence is enough to melt the tightness in his throat, well, no one would ever know but him.)

There’s a scraping of chairs as everyone rises and they sing Auld Lang Syne, and Oikawa closes his eyes, tilts his head back and sings and listens and  _feels_ Hajime’s hand still tight around his, eyes starting to grow damp with unbearable emotion.

(Yet another ending of this particular chapter of his life, turn the page, new blank sheet white and crisp, and start again.)

Then the ceremony is officially over and students start to cheer and some yell at their homeroom teachers, a practice that is officially too informal for such an event but is continued anyway, and now the students are free to wander the school to say their goodbyes to fellow classmates and juniors.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, but he doesn’t continue, just lets the name hang in the air between them, says the name to  _feel_  it roll off his tongue, says it because it feels right, it is seijoh and volleyball and home and love.

Hajime turns to look at him, piercing green eyes flaring with a defiance that can’t quite rebel against the growing moisture, and they stare at each other for a long moment 

“Tooru.” Hajime returns, quietly, an offering and an anchor.

“Oh, my boys are all grown up!” Mayumi exclaims, and Oikawa breaks off his intense eye fucking with Hajime to give his parents hugs that are all arms and warmth and pride.

And then Oikawa turns to hug Hajime’s parents because, really, after all this time, he and Hajime practically has two sets of parents since they’re all so close. 

They find some teammates, bid their farewells to some classmates, and bump into Hanamaki and Matsukawa along the way.

“I’m going to miss you!” Oikawa says, his eyes red from all the crying he’s been doing so far and he’s already dissolving into an emotional wreck, seeing his two closest friends and teammates.

“Hey now, captain, we’re graduating, not dying.” Matsukawa drawls, and they all step forward to have a mini group hug right there and then in the middle of the hallway. 

“We’re never going to see each other again.” Oikawa sniffles, and he can see Hajime giving the other two  _looks_  as Hajime hands him a tissue pack with equal amounts disgust and affection. “Blow your nose, idiot.”

“We’ll definitely meet up in the future.” Hanamaki says, and Iwaizumi nods. “Just text us or something.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse us, Issei and I are going to find an empty classroom and make out.” Hanamaki says without a trace of embarrassment, and Hajime and Oikawa share a look before bursting out laughing.

Great minds think alike indeed. Oikawa’s just glad he and Hajime did something like that before they officially graduated high school.

The urge to tell Matsukawa and Hanamaki that he and Hajime did it first is strong, but glancing a look to the right, Oikawa doesn’t know if Hajime’s okay with sharing that with others, even if it’s just the two of them.

So he keeps quiet, and Hajime stays silent, and they settle for sneaking glances at each other that are both coded and undecipherable by the other. 

It takes a while, but they finally manage to escape from their parents and the occasional classmate, both not quite knowing where to go but wanting to go somewhere, a half-formed desire that’s insistent and growing.

They stroll aimlessly until they reach a secluded clearing behind one of the school buildings, and Oikawa really couldn’t have asked for a better spot, because the sakura trees are in full bloom, vibrant pink blossoms floating in the wind and lying limp and withered on the ground.   

Oikawa turns to face Hajime, eyes screwed up with an almost gentle wistfulness and warmth, watches Hajime’s face turns an inexplicable shade of red, pulls him in close with both hands and kisses the tip of his nose.

“Iwa-chan…”  _I really love you._  “Thank you for these three years.”

He laughs, a bit raggedly. “And for the years before that, and before that, and, well, thank you for being with me.” 

“Idiot.” Hajime smiles, rests his palms on Oikawa’s hips gently. “Remember what I said? You’re my partner that I can be proud of, and I wouldn’t have anyone else.”

“Will you stay?” The question is bursting from his mouth before he can stop it, a desperate plea that’s as much tentative as it is forceful.

 _(“Iwa-chan, we’re probably stuck together until we’re both like ninety years old and sitting in rocking chairs in some loony house, so no leaving before that, kay? Promise?”)_  

“Stay with you?” Hajime asks slowly. “As in stay in the same apartment as you, or stay  _with_  you?”

“Both.”

“Haven’t you already asked this? We’ll stay together.” 

(Not an “I’ll stay with you”, but a reminder that they’re in this together, a promise and a fact.)

Hajime grins. “You’re not getting rid of me so easily, asshole. Until ninety years old, remember?”

Oikawa blinks, because he didn’t think Hajime would remember something like that, but he grins and says, “Wati! I change the conditions. Until death, and even then. 

Hajime yanks them together by Oikawa’s hips roughly, standing just the slightest bit on tiptoes so that he’s nose to nose with Oikawa’s slouch. “Are you asking me to stay with you forever?”

“Forever is a lie.” Oikawa responds automatically, because  _nothing_ lasts forever, except perhaps regret, but the idea of spending an eternity of Hajime  _does_ sound pretty nice.

“Some things are eternal.” Hajime whispers, a shadow crossing his face for a moment before melting away. “I’ll stay with you for all of this lie, though. However long it may last.” 

“Well then, I hope it lasts for a long, long, time.” Oikawa laughs, because maybe, just maybe, he’s starting to believe in all the promises of  _forever_ , too, can’t help but hope and dream of the eternal fantasy of love. 

“Iwa-chan, stay with me forever.” 

 

~-~

 

This time, Hajime comes over to Oikawa’s room, and they camp out on the bed, simply using their phones and Oikawa scrolls through the vast amounts of graduation posts littering his feed.

“Hey, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa starts. “Do you want to keep this a secret?" 

“What?"

“This.” Oikawa gestures to them. “You know. Us.” 

“Are we in a relationship?” Hajime asks him, and there’s something in his tone that’s not quite right, a little too nonchalant, a little incredulous, and Oikawa  _knows_ Hajime isn’t looking for a relationship so he hurries to say, “No, but we’re not your regular ol’ best friends.”

(For some reason, Hajime has never dated in high school, has said that he wasn’t looking for any relationships or more commitments.)

Something flashes across Hajime’s eyes that must be relief, Oikawa can’t tell, but he doesn’t try too hard to find out what, afraid of the truth.

What they have is working. It’s good. Oikawa doesn’t have to push it,  _can’t_ push it, not when pushing it will only break something. 

“Like… do you want to tell Makki and Mattsun that we’re kissing?”

Hajime shifts slightly, and Oikawa can read the discomfort in the hunched line of his spine, stiff and tense.

“We don’t have to. I was just asking.” Oikawa says softly, but can feel the disappointment bleed into his tone, that Hajime has all but confirmed that what they have is something to be ashamed of, something that other people can’t know. 

(A shameful, painful secret, but Oikawa will take what he can get. It is what it is, and he can’t change it, can’t, can’t, can’t.)

Hajime watches him silently, eyes dark with consideration, and then he sighs. “Sure. I don’t mind.”

“You obviously don’t want to.”

“Look, okay, I don’t  _really_  want them to know, but… it’s not because I’m with you, or anything. Being with you, is something I’d only feel pride about, got it?” Hajime says, and his tone is rough and grumpy like a scolding, all packaged up in coarse brown gruffness to hide the tenderness underneath. “But I guess we could tell them. Being gay isn’t something I’m going to hide forever, I guess.” 

“Okay.” Oikawa decides. “We’ll tell them, then. Maybe we can even go on double dates sometimes!”

Hajime flushes and immediately starts protesting, says, “I thought you said we weren’t even dating, shittykawa!”, but Oikawa is too busy thinking that the past three years has literally been them going on double dates the whole time, and Hanamaki was right, Oikawa and Hajime  _are_ really like a real-life couple. 

(It hurts, to be  _so close_ ,  _again_ , all the victories close enough to taste but just out of reach.)

(And ultimately, being  _like_  a couple and being an  _actual_  couple is very different, and Oikawa is acutely aware of that fact, feels it festering within him like some insidious toxic.) 

“You said you’d stay with me, right?” Oikawa says, reaches over to grasp Hajime’s chin and tilt it upwards. “No going back on your word, Iwa-chan. So if I go on a double date with Makki and Mattsun, you have to come, too, because you said we’ll stay together.”

“Go on a double date by yourself, trashykawa!” Hajime splutters, and Oikawa exclaims, “But you said it yourself!  _You said it!”_

(Oikawa knows that this was a battle already won before he had even started it, and Hajime probably knows it, too, since he gives up faster than usual.) 

“Urgh, whatever, just go to sleep, shittykawa.” Hajime grunts, shoving Oikawa away so he has more space.

“No goodnight kiss?” Oikawa mumbles some time later, already halfway falling asleep, smiling drowsily with eyes half-lidded when Hajime leans over to give him a quick press of the lips. 

“Night.” Hajime says, and as Oikawa slowly falls asleep, he thinks he hears something that might have been, or maybe it was just an echo - an “ _I love you”_ whispered to the darkness that fades away before morning.

 

✫✫✫

 

“So, this is the university closest to our house, and it’d be easiest if we just go here.” Oikawa says, as the two of them wander the campus aimlessly. “But… it’s not that great.”

Hajime mumbles a response and yawns, lumbering along like a zombie.

“The medical course here is apparently below average, so we’re definitely not going here.” Oikawa sniffs. “I haven’t really decided on what I want to do yet, but…” 

“Why are we even here again?” Hajime groans.

“Iwa-chan, we have to check out all the potential universities, of course! It’s going to be the climax of our school life! The determinant of our future!”

Hajime sighs deeply, like his future is something he’d rather not think about.

“Hey shittykawa, I want to ask you something.” 

“Hmm?”

“You said you wanted me to call you by your first name.” Hajime says. “But I was wondering, is that just a perverted kink of yours that’s confined to the bedroom, or do you want me to call you “Tooru” all the time?” 

Oikawa blinks. 

“That was random.”

“Just answer me, damnit!”

"Do you even need to ask?" Oikawa exclaims, because duh. "Obviously call me by  _my given name_."

"Tooru, huh…" Hajime starts to say, but then his face flushes an interesting shade of red and he groans.

(Oikawa revels in the way his heart squeezes when Hajime says his name, still fumbling around the syllables awkwardly but that just makes it all the more adorable.)

"Oh god, I can't call you that without immediately flashbacking to our kiss. In the interest of  _not_  popping a boner in public, I'm not going to call you that." 

"I'm sure the public wouldn't mind," Oikawa cooes, smirking. "But also, really? You get so turned on by kissing me?"

"Urgh, okay, nevermind, your face is just a total put off." Hajime scowls. 

"Iwa-chan, so cute." Oikawa purrs lowly, turning slightly to dig his nose into Hajime's neck and is rewarded with a yelp and a kick.

 _Note to self_ , Oikawa thinks.  _Call Hajime cute more often._

"Anyway, just try, okay? I really prefer Tooru."

Hajime swallows, staring at him. "Okay."

Oikawa grins and claps his hands. "That's great! Does that mean I can call you Hajime all the time, too?" 

"Actually..." Hajime starts, blushing harder and looking away to hide it. "I can't even... but I think I’ve gotten used to  _Iwa-chan_." 

Now it's Oikawa's turn to flush slightly and they probably look really dumb standing there staring off into different directions with faces so red, but god, this feeling of exhilarated joy that comes hand in hand with being in love is completely worth it.

Never before has any girl made Oikawa feel the way Hajime does, but he knows it's because he's in love with Hajime, and he knows it, and while he hates that it's unrequited and he hates missing someone who's not even his, every moment together feeling so - so much, so intensely, even if it's just plain dumb nervousness or over-the-moon happiness, it's so, so worth it, and Oikawa would choose to be in love with Hajime every single time.

(Even if it just ends up in a broken heart never healed and tears never dried.)

"That's," Oikawa says. "pretty kinky." 

"Oh my god asshole - "

"No no, Iwa-chan, let me finish! I also always knew I had the best taste in nicknames and you can never say my cute nicknames are gross or dumb because you like it, you said so yourself!" Oikawa exclaims triumphantly, pointing a finger into Hajime's cheek, ignoring the warning signs like Hajime's twitching eyelid and the way he grabs Oikawa's hand and squeezes. "So there! Ha!" 

"I take back everything I ever said, your nicknames are the worst and I hope you - oh." Hajime stops his ranting to wave at something behind Oikawa, and when he turns around, finds himself face to face with Daichi and Suga. 

"...Yo." Daichi waves a hand weakly. Suga raises his brow at their held hands, although Hajime is more intent on pulverizing than holding, but Oikawa isn't about to explain himself to them.

(Oikawa screws up his face and gives them a look of perfected contempt previously directed at Kageyama, the one he knows conveys all his scorn and dislike.)

(He's still bitter about the defeat - how could he not be? - and it's still too fresh on his tongue to even consider playing nice, especially after his fall.)

"Fancy meeting you here!" Daichi continues, as if Oikawa isn't currently trying to glare him to death. "Checking out the university?"

"Obviously." Oikawa says coolly before Hajime can reply something halfway friendly.

"Ah, Oikawa-kun, will you be going into professional volleyball?" Suga asks, probably in an attempt to be sociable, and Oikawa flinches slightly, because he refuses to explain just why he isn't going to, when he made it pretty clear before that he intended to.

"No." Oikawa replies, and the conversation fizzles out completely, Daichi and Suga trading looks that's not lost on either of them.

Oikawa notes the way they look at each other, the secret smiles and private language, the revoltingly obvious closeness they share. 

Hajime sighs, and then he makes some attempt at conversation, which is a first because Hajime isn't a guy for small talk and polite conversation. 

"This is a little late, but, congrats on your win. I'm glad someone beat Ushijima."

"Oh! Thank you! Did you watch our match?"

"Yeah, we did. Your team improved immensely since we first played you, it's amazing. Will either of you be going pro?"

"No, probably not. We're not sure yet... but probably not." 

"Oh. Okay."

They chat for a bit longer, then stand around until Daichi coughs awkwardly under the weight of Oikawa’s impassive stare.

"I guess we'll... see you around!" Suga says, and then they give a quick wave before hightailing it right away.

Hajime looks down and seems to be surprised to find himself still holding Oikawa's hand, and he tugs on it slightly. 

"C'mon, let's go."

They're both a little subdued after that, because that meeting was a reminder of their defeat, and of Oikawa's fall, of his knee, of all the things he'd rather be forgotten.

"Let's go home. There’s nothing to see here.” Hajime says, and Oikawa says as casually as he can. “They’re both so obviously into each other, it’s revolting.”

“Daichi and Suga?” Hajime asks, and Oikawa nods. “They’re pretty cute together.” 

“It’s disgusting.” Oikawa says venomously, and he can’t help but let his bitterness for their obviously mutual relationship shine through. Some people have all the luck, all the victories, all the love. How awfully disgusting. “Absolutely fucking pathetic.”

Oikawa kicks at the ground moodily, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, intent on ignoring Hajime’s burning gaze.

( _He’s_ so pathetic, more like, he can’t even get the  _one person_  he wants.  _He’s_ so disgustingly obvious and it’s so pathetic it’s almost physically painful.)

“Hey.” Hajime grabs his arm and pulls Oikawa into his chest, a move that’s probably meant to be intimidating but ends up being welcomed all the same. “Don’t diss on other people’s relationship just because you can’t understand it.” 

“ _Can’t_   _understand?”_  Oikawa repeats, voice going loud with incredulity. “I  _understand_  more than you think,  _Hajime_.”

He spits out  _Hajime_  like a curse, like a word to cut and hurt, like a word that doesn’t mean the world to him and possibly even more.

(He  _understands_  it so much it hurts, too much, that sometimes, people get together and love each other and have happy endings, and Oikawa hates it even more that the Karasuno third years managed to triumph in all the areas he’s failed.)

(How  _unfair_ , how  _frustrating,_ how  _pathetic_ of him _._ ) 

Hajime flinches, in hurt and then in anger, tightens his grip around Oikawa’s arm. “Why is it disgusting? Because they’re gay? They’re happy?”

“Because they’re in love with each other.” Oikawa says bitterly, and this is about as honest as he gets. “Because they have something that’s probably going to last forever.”

(Because they all the things he doesn’t have, all the things he worked  _so hard_ for, wants  _so much_ , but didn’t get in the end.) 

Hajime lets go of his arm silently and takes a step back, and Oikawa waits for the rebuke that never comes, which is kind of surprising because Hajime is actually a romantic at heart.

Oikawa can see Hajime’s throat bob as he gulps down hard, all the words that will never be said and never known, selfish secrets to be kept to the death, and even then.

(And in the end, the only thing that lasts longer than all the unfulfilled promises of  _forever_ s, are the innumerable, fulfilling  _never_ s.)

 

~-~

 

They reach the train station and board in silence, a looming kind of quiet that’s just waiting for someone to break it, hanging heavy in the empty spaces between them.

The train is pretty crowded so Hajime is squeezed right up to Oikawa’s chest, and they then proceed to look anywhere but each other, Oikawa gazing out of the window with the air of a sullen child.

“I  _really_  wish we won against Karasuno.” Oikawa suddenly, and Hajime meets his eyes with raised eyebrows. “We just missed. By  _one point_.”

Hajime just shakes his head and sighs, but Oikawa presses on. “The last match point – I was  _so close_.”

“We’ve been over this.” Hajime says tiredly, passes a hand over his brow and hunches into himself slightly and away from Oikawa.

“If only – if only I was better! Faster! By that one second!” Oikawa cries out, and Hajime asks, “Are we really gonna talk about Karasuno  _now_? In a train full of random strangers?!”

“Yes!” Oikawa whisper shouts. “The last match point – the last toss! Remember when I crashed into the chairs after tossing to you?”

“As if I’d forget. That toss – that toss was  _perfect._ It fit perfectly against my palm, I’m still amazed.” Hajime says, and as he smiles slightly at the memory, something warm unfurls in Oikawa’s chest that might be pride.

Then Hajime’s smile turns bitter and he says self-deprecatingly. “But that’s what makes it worse. I screwed up such a perfect toss.”

“What?” Oikawa says. “That’s stupid. You spiked it real good.”

“It got picked up, remember? The team who lets the ball touch the floor loses. If I had – If you had tossed the ball at someone else, we might’ve won, we might’ve – “ Hajime trails off and ducks his head, and Oikawa can see his shoulders shaking with the force of his suppressed emotion. 

“I don’t regret tossing to you.” Oikawa breathes into Hajime’s ear. “I believed – and I still do – that you’re our ace, and the one who could best connect with me and our highest chance of scoring that point.” 

“Then,” Hajime whispers brokenly. “Then, what kind of ace am I?” 

“One that leads the team. A powerful, dependable, strong ace.” Oikawa says forcefully, wraps an arm around Hajime’s shoulders to pull him closer, ignores the looks from other passengers. “One that I would choose again, and again, and again.”

Hajime stays silent, head buried in Oikawa’s shoulder. “Plus, Iwa-chan, I wanted my last toss in high school to be to you!”

“And you say  _I’m_ a sentimental sap.” Hajime laughs hollowly. “It wasn’t worth it, though.”

“Yes.” Oikawa says. “Yes. It was. We definitely wouldn’t have won even if I had tossed to someone else. And win or lose, sometimes there are always more important things." 

 _(Always and always, forever and ever.)_  

“I’m not disappointed in our team, though.” Hajime says, his pride still shining through, dampened slightly by a gentle wistfulness. “We all played so well - at our 120% - our team was amazing. It really was an amazing match.” 

“Yeah.” Oikawa’s voice wavers slightly as he talks, trembles – but the underlying steely anger in his voice holds it firm, hard. “And the saddest fucking part is that even after we gave it our all, after we tried so hard, we were at our best - our best just wasn’t good enough.”

“And as if that didn’t suck enough, you know, my fucking leg just fucking gives up on me.” Oikawa laughs bitterly. “I’m really such a pathetic failure.” 

(It’s the first time he’s admitted it aloud, and the words are out of his mouth almost before he realizes it and then it’s too late, but it’s  _true_ , and maybe saying it out, to Hajime, helps a bit.)

And then Hajime stomps hard on his foot and Oikawa yelps.

“Iwa-chan!” He hisses. “What the hell?” 

“You’re a fuckin retard, that’s what you are.” Hajime growls, pulling Oikawa down by his collar, or as much as the limited space will allow. “Do you really think you’re a failure?” 

( _In more ways than you know_ , Oikawa thinks.  _In the things I wanted the most_.)

“In all the things that matters, yes!” Oikawa retorts. “Like volleyball! And nationals! And – “

( -  _my love life.)_

“And what?” Hajime asks.

“Nothing.” Oikawa says sullenly, refusing to meet Hajime’s eyes, because Hajime’s eyes are a piercing green in the shifting sunlight and Oikawa feels exposed, because Hajime will surely see right through him.

“Do you want me to start listing out all your achievements?” Hajime demands. “Like volleyball club captain, for one. And best setter in the prefecture.” 

Oikawa sulks and shakes his head.

“And, you’re such an extremely talented volleyball player.” Hajime continues. “You once scored seven service aces in a row.”

“ _Was_.” Oikawa mutters. “I  _was_ a volleyball player. Now I’m never going to be one again." 

Oikawa looks up and meets Hajime’s eyes, sees his pain and sadness reflected back at him, feels instantly bad because while he was wallowing in his own self-pity, Hajime has been hurting, too.

“You’ll be good at whatever you choose to put your mind to.” Hajime shakes his head and sighs. “Not just  _good_ , but outstandingly, blindingly good.” 

“I sure hope so.” Oikawa smiles slightly at the praise, and he acknowledges Hajime’s point, that maybe there’s other stuff out there besides volleyball.

“I wanted to play volleyball forever.” Oikawa confesses. “But evidently, nothing lasts forever." 

Hajime’s hand finds his somewhere in between them, and Hajime squeezes his hand lightly, says, “We’ve had this argument before, shittykawa.”

“Hajime,” Oikawa sighs out his name, more of an exhale than a word, tucks his chin onto Hajime’s shoulder and sags onto him for support. “I kind of wish forevers do last, though.”

“Tooru.” Hajime returns, presses another promise into his palm with a firm squeeze. “Don’t worry. We’ll get there someday.”

 

✫✫✫ 

 

If there’s one thing Oikawa remembers clearly over the next few weeks – because those weeks seemed to slip through his fingers like the sand from a cracked hourglass – is the point when they receive their admission letters. 

The letters come through mail, and they wake up one morning to find official university envelopes in their mailboxes, and as Oikawa holds the brown package in his hands, feeling the weight of the paper that bear the words which could change his life, stares over at Hajime instinctively, nervously.

“This is it.” Hajime whispers. “Is yours from Keio university?”

Oikawa nods wordlessly.

Fingers start to tear at the paper, right there and then on the silent green lawn, sunlight streaming down in gentle, wavering rays and sprinklers going off in the house next door.

The wind is still, and the only sound comes from the ripping of the envelopes and his heart thudding too loud in his shrinking chest.

_(Please please please.)_

It seemed like the earth itself was holding its breath, and Oikawa knows that he is definitely holding his, unfolding the thick cream paper and eyes greedily devouring its contents. 

“Oh my god. I got in! We can - ” Hajime starts to say, but stops abruptly when he sees Oikawa’s face. “Oh my god.” 

“Did you get in?” He asks urgently, and Oikawa doesn’t reply, holds out the paper to Hajime wordlessly to check for himself.

Hajime takes it captiously, the tips of their fingers brushing for a moment before Hajime pulls his arm back.

“Oikawa Tooru, we are pleased to inform you that – !” Hajime doesn’t even bother to read the rest of the sentence, relaxing his tense grip on the crumpled paper. 

Hajime chokes out a laugh, a sound of pure relief, an explosive breath of air that carries with it the echoes of a sigh.

The world jerks into motion again, a dog barking down the street, people calling to each other, the keen piercing dullness in Oikawa’s ears fading.

“Another five years together.” Oikawa murmurs to the sky, tilts his head upwards to catch the sun on his face. It is a prayer and a  _thank you_  and a continuation of something that might just last forever.

“Thank fucking god.” Hajime tells him, then steps in close and hugs him tight, locking Oikawa’s arms by his side, catching him by surprise.

His tone changes slightly, teasing but still all but overflowing with affection and warmth, his true feelings shining through all the little inconsistencies of his words. “I knew it wouldn’t be that easy to get rid of you.”

Oikawa laughs a little, head lolling onto Hajime’s shoulder, eyes still closed and voice barely more than a whisper. “Iwa-chan, you haven’t even been trying.”

Hajime hums a little, nuzzles his neck. “I guess not.”

Oikawa stays still, just breathing, in and out, breathing in the scent of Hajime, of his detergent and the musky scent of freshly turned earth on their lawn, of a spring just bloomed and a winter just thawed. 

It is the most at peace with himself and the world at large Oikawa has been in a long, long time.

Maybe this is what it’s like to be satisfied, to be content and happy. To know that there’s still happiness waiting for him for another five years, that for now, at least, life is good. 

“So how long before you start trying?” Oikawa asks, for a lack of anything better to say, to continue to fill up the empty spaces with words and voices. 

“I don’t know.” Hajime confesses, and then he lets the teasing tone fall away gently, until Oikawa isn’t sure if he’s joking or not. “But since I have so many forevers to be with you, I’m not pressed for time, am I?”

“Forevers don’t exist.” Oikawa says, mouth curling a little at the edges as their conversation once again turns to the well-worn grooves of this particular subject. 

“But right now, you do.” Hajime says, and there’s an infinite satisfaction when he continues. “And so do I. And when they coincide, it’s  _us_. And isn’t that all that matters?”

“Iwa-chan, I always knew you had a secret flair for poetry.” Oikawa laughs out softly, as if scared to let out too much sound and tear the layers of bubble wrapped around their own little world. “So maybe we do, now, but what about later? Will we still be together?”

“The end is too far off for any thoughtful consideration.” Hajime rolls his eyes, turns his head towards the immutable sky and the boundless horizon, breath hissing out like the final fizzles of a deflated balloon.

“But we know it’s coming.” Oikawa feels the need to say, to spell out the words in the still unmoving air and leave it hanging there between them. “Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but the day after, or the month after- ”

“Stop worrying, shittykawa.” Hajime grunts, then says. “I know there’s an end. Which is why, I want you as long as I could have you. So just enjoy for now, yeah?” 

(Oikawa thinks that this a very strange conversation to have with a supposedly platonic best friend, but he isn’t going to do anything stupid to ruin the moment.)

(Or not.) 

“Oh, I’ll enjoy it  _good_.” Oikawa purrs, and gets promptly whacked over the head for his troubles, Hajime’s hand lingering in his hair and staying. 

“Do you believe in infinity, then?”

 Oikawa thinks this over carefully, mind still pervaded by a dreamy languor, then lifts his shoulders slightly. “I believe in things without end. Like circles. And pi. And the universe. So yes, I believe in infinity, but not infinite time.”

He has tried to squeeze all the infinite forevers into the finite number of days he had, all the late-night practices bleeding into early mornings, time still slipping away until he was left with nothing, life marching onwards without waiting for him to catch up.

“All right then.” Hajime says, softly, surely. “Maybe I don’t have forever with you, but I’m going spend an infinite number of forevers with you.”

“So if even you can’t believe in forevers, you can still believe in an infinity of  _us_ , together, without end.” Hajime says.

The sunlight is a vibrant red on his closed eyelids, morphing into liquid light as Oikawa slowly opens his eyes a fraction, just to look at Hajime, to absorb in the sight of him like gasping for air after being submerged in water for too long.

“Good.” Oikawa says, in a rare moment of satisfaction, and then realization. “And, it’s more important that we have each other, now. Forever can wait until later.”

“Yeah.” Hajime pulls him closer, or as much as he physically can without merging their bodies together, then again. “Yeah.” 

(He didn’t believe in  _forever_ s, at first, at all, but then Hajime opened his eyes to all the infinities – the never-ending possibilities of endless impossibilities – and maybe, just maybe, he could find his own type of forever with Hajime, too.) 

_(A love that lasts, and never leaves.)_

_(Never.)_  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally action!! Between our favourite clueless idiots heheh
> 
> Side notes:  
> 1\. Remember that oikawa and iwaizumi might be a lil ooc here because of all the additional angst and unresolved issues that wasn't present in canon
> 
> 2.. The graduation part was inspired by a fanart of iwaoi graduation with sakura trees in the background which can be found at https://www.instagram.com/p/BZt9z6pFC1H/?hl=en&taken-by=s.ugass 
> 
> 3.. This was kinda written in response to the episode titled “The worthless pride of Oikawa Tooru”, and so it’s sort of a character analysis of Oikawa and his motivations, and a rejection of the episode name which is kinda mocking. 
> 
> Oikawa is the literally saddest character in the whole anime because he tries so hard, and ultimately still isn’t able to win, so it’s no wonder he has some grudge against Kageyama and Ushijima, and I can’t really blame him for being an asshole. But when Kageyama has trouble with Hinata, which senpai does he go to? Oikawa. And Oikawa actually does help him, even if he’s a total jerk about it.
> 
> (and there are so many oikawa haters out there because all they see is his assholish tendencies)
> 
> 4\. I’ve read so many fanfictions of Oikawa going pro and Iwaizumi not, and I think it’s a very likely scenario but none of the fics I’ve read have Oikawa’s reaction to this (do you really think Oikawa would just accept it? reALLy??) and it’s such an important scene yet missed out - they’ve been playing together for so long and then – they aren’t.
> 
> Also because I think Oikawa would be a very insecure person about his relationships, even though he tries to play it off with over-confidence. On court, he’s very self-aware like in the karasuno match, but off court, it’s different. So yeah, I can write lots of fluff and angst lolol.


	3. Chapter 3

The apartment they picked out isn’t anything fancy, or particularly spacious at that, since it _is_ Tokyo and all, but Hajime has to admit that he likes it.     
  
It’s a typical two-bedroom apartment with a kitchen and living area with smooth wooden floors and whitewashed walls, soon to be plastered over with posters of aliens and godzilla and volleyball.   
  
Down the hallway, they’ve decided to make it a walk of memories starting from pictures of when they were toddlers, and then elementary and middle school and finally, high school. There's a space at the very end of the corridor, and Hajime thinks it's reassuring, to have an emptiness just waiting to be filled with new memories, immortal and untouchable in their fragile glass frames.   
  
Hajime smiles a little thinking of the master bedroom – not that it’s very _big_ at all - and the newly bought queen-sized bed for two with tacky childish alien bedspreads and Godzilla plush pillows.     
  
And the distinct _lack_ of a bed in the other room.   
  
“We’ll save electricity bills for heating and bed costs. Good mattresses are expensive, Iwa-chan! Quality over quantity!” Tooru insisted, and they somehow ended up only buying one bed, even after Hajime had taken pains to make sure the apartment had two separate rooms.     
  
He can’t say he isn’t pleased, though. Sleeping together has become infinitely more enjoyable now that they’ve started making out in bed, the minutes flying by in blurs of heat and smothered want.     
  
So he likes this new house, but it's probably not so much for the actual physical space but rather for the person currently splayed out right in the middle of it, brown curls slick over his forehead and falling limp to the floor.    
  
Tooru.    
  
Hajime drops to the floor beside Tooru, relishes in the bone-weary ache from carrying box after box of his and Tooru’s worldly possessions up too many flights of stairs because the lift just decides to break down on that very day, the satisfied kind of nostalgic pain that’s both familiar and foreign.     
  
(Recently, less familiar than foreign, but Hajime is determined not to let himself to slack and lose shape.)    
  
“Looks like all the boxes are up, thank god.” Hajime huffs, nudges Oikawa’s prone body with a socked toe. “Oi, stickykawa, you’re smearing head sweat all over our floor.”    
  
Our floor.    
  
Hajime grins without realizing it, catches sight of Tooru's lazy smile as he whines. “Iwa-chan, so heartless, forcing a disabled person like me to do so much work.”     
  
“Our house,” Hajime says, can’t decide if he’s trying to scowl or smile. “Means _we_ gotta keep it _clean_ , dumbass. Also, you’re hardly disabled.”     
  
“You’re right, Iwa-chan’s the disabled one. Mentally disabled.” Tooru’s smile is serene. “As in, possessing an extraordinarily low intelligence.”    
  
“Evidently, since I’m actually here with you.”    
  
“It all sounds so domestic, eh?” Tooru says lightly. “Almost as if we’re a married couple who just moved into our new home!”     
  
Hajime flinches just the slightest bit, the jab cutting a little too close. “People don’t find true love at eighteen, idiot. High school sweethearts never last for long.”        
  
“Then Iwa-chan, how long do you think it takes to find true love?”     
  
Hajime considers it carefully _. I met mine within the first month of my life._ “Depends on how lucky you are.”    
  
Tooru hums. “Then how long does it take to get over a true love?”     
  
Hajime stills. “A lifetime. Perhaps never.”  

“Iwa-chan, you’re never going to find true love with that attitude.” Tooru laughs, stretches his hands over his head like he’s trying to grab at the lights. “Although you’ll probably scare all the girls away anyway, with that grumpy face of yours.”    
  
Hajime flops backwards with a sigh so that he’s staring at the white ceiling and LED lights, wind from the open balcony blowing petrol fumes into their house. “I attracted _you_ with this face.”     
  
“You mean I took pity on you.” Tooru flashes him a grin that’s both teasing and sharp. “Plus, hanging around you makes me look better in comparison."   
  
"There's nothing you'd look better in comparison to." Hajime deadpans as Tooru clicks his tongue in annoyance, but brings his hand up to find Hajime's, anyway.   
  
“This is so exciting.” Tooru breaks the comfortable silence, rolling over onto Hajime so that they’re chest to chest and impossibly close, brown eyes glimmering in the artificial light with a shivering happiness that Hajime wants to keep burning forever. “Our own house! Ours!”     
  
“Without parents.” Hajime says, looks at Tooru slyly through half-lidded eyes, and Tooru immediately catches on, grinding against Hajime slightly as he leans right in.     
  
“We don’t need a chaperone now, do we, Hajime?” Tooru purrs lowly.      
  
"You literally got only one flippin bed." Hajime points out, and Tooru grinds his hips down playfully.   
  
"Iwa-chan is such a virgin at love, it's cute."  
  
"Say that again and I'll unvirgin my fist to your face."   
  
"Your fist is definitely no virgin!! You're always using it inappropriately on my body." Tooru smirks. "Or should I say, _in_ my body."  
  
Hajime can feel his face burning, roughly shoves Tooru off as he cackles evilly, and Hajime thinks it must be the epitome of evil laughter because Tooru is the actual devil himself and takes a perverse pleasure in embarrassing Hajime to death.  
  
"Shut the fuck up, oh my god, I am never sleeping in the same bed as you." Hajime shudders. "I feel violated by your very presence."   
  
"Then I've been violating you for our whole lives, so a few more years won't make a difference, Iwa-chan, come _on_."  
  
Hajime cracks his knuckles, imagining each one to be Tooru's head.  
  
"One day I'm going to violate your heart with a kitchen knife while you sleep." Hajime says viciously, already eyeing the box containing their silverware, and more importantly, the knives.  
  
"Empty threats, Iwa-chan! We both know you'll be too lonely without me to brighten up your dim sad life." Tooru waves a hand in the air and shoots him an obnoxious grin, annoying in its smugness but genuine nonetheless.

"One day you'll wake up and - oh wait, _you won't_." Hajime growls, but he's distracted by Tooru's eyes, all melted chocolate browness, deep and rich and shining with mirth. 

Tooru stands up and stretches, shirt riding up to reveal his smooth, toned stomach, and when Hajime manages to bring his eyes back up a more decent level again Tooru is smirking at him, that asshole. "Iwa-chan, you don’t have time to be lazing here perving on me all day! These boxes aren't going to unpack themselves, you know!"

"You were the one lazing around, I swear - !"

They bicker on cheerfully as they unpack the boxes, the apartment slowly becoming less of a house and more of a home, an unfamiliar space filled with familiar things.

"I hope we're in the same class." Hajime says absently, expertly rolling the tamagoyaki in the pan because Tooru can't cook to save his life, and Hajime refuses to eat takeout every night.

"We should be, I mean, we're taking pretty much the same classes for everything."

"You mean, you took pretty much the exact same classes as me." Hajime says, giving Tooru a sideways glance. 

"Pure coincidence, Iwa-chan! You,” Tooru says, coming up behind Hajime to poke his back. “were just extremely fortunate. I hope you properly appreciate me!”  

“Unwillingly put up with you, more like.” Hajime responds dryly, scooping out the egg into plates. “And feeding you, and picking up after you, and babysitting you.”

Then he stops after filling one plate with tamagoyaki, wrinkles his nose and taunts. “Actually, I don’t think there’s enough here for you, shittykawa, so you can just go and – "

“Thanks mom!” Tooru interrupts, ignores Hajime completely and steps in close, fluidly pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of Hajime’s mouth as he deftly snatches the filled plate from Hajime’s suddenly nerveless fingers. 

Hajime leans against the counter and physically restrains himself from clutching at his chest, where his heart is hammering much too fast from a _kiss_ and tries not to look at Tooru laughing at his flushed face because the knives are _really_ much too tempting sitting out in the open like that. 

“Fuckin asshole.” Hajime splutters, turning around to scoop out the remaining eggs so that Tooru can no longer laugh at his red face, ears burning crimson. 

“Iwa-chan, your cooking is really good! Like, it’s actually edible.” Tooru says cheerfully, like he isn’t actually the _biggest burden in the world_ and _two seconds away_ from being the victim of a fatal knife wound.

 “Next time, cook for your own damn self, assikawa.” 

“Why would I, with Iwa-chan here to cook such delicious food for me?” Oikawa says, setting his fork down, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “Although, I think you touched it a bit too much because it’s all salty like you – “ 

“What can I say, you rubbed off on me.” Hajime shrugs. 

“ _Oh_ , I would _love_ to!” Tooru exclaims. “I’ve never gotten off rubbing on you before!”

 Hajime flushes again and flips Tooru off, quickly escaping the kitchen to the couch, announces, “I cooked, so you clean”, easily tuning out Tooru’s immediate complaints. 

School starts in just a week or two so they _really_ don’t have much time to buy books and familiarize themselves with the new location, so they spend the next few days wandering the area around the apartment lazily, spending too much money on street food and holding hands if it’s dark enough to be go unnoticed.

Every night, he climbs into bed with Tooru at his side, and Tooru is a constant reassuring presence, warm and soft and breathtakingly gorgeous.

Hajime blames his almost perpetual morning wood on Tooru, because that idiot screws up his libido just by being near. 

Getting only one bed turns out to be a good choice, late nights spent curled around each other, easy kisses and murmured thoughts, a closeness that’s both stark and surreal at the same time, lips wandering too far south from the mouth to be called decent by any stretch of imagination. 

Hajime is both unbearably excited and terrified to wait and see where his mouth will take him, over the rolling heaving curve of bone and flesh that is Tooru, down and down and down some more until there’s nothing but eternal hell waiting to engulf him alive. 

It’s nice, in a way that leaves Hajime always slightly amazed and immensely grateful, and with the constant foreboding that such bliss doesn’t last long, not very, not at all. 

Like the calm before the storm, and Hajime is luxuriating in the smooth seas and pleasant winds, hears the warning rumbles of thunder but chooses to turn away and cover his ears, close his eyes. 

( _Oh, if only he knew.)_

 


	4. Chapter 4

College proceeds pretty much as well as expected, which is to say, not very at all.

Hajime is kept terrifyingly busy almost every single day, what with all the lectures and self-study and the really  _insane_  amount of materials there are to memorize. 

Okay, so maybe not _that_ busy because Tooru outright refuses to study past twelve midnight, nope – _not in our first year, Iwa-chan! -_ Tooru will pack up and go home once the clock strikes twelve.

Which means that Hajime usually ups and goes at twelve, too, sometimes mugging a little more at home in their study room, futilely trying to ignore the television blaring in the living room.

Unsurprisingly, Tooru does end up with mostly the same schedule as him, although they do have one or two tutorials with different timings. The rest are lectures, and the whole batch of medical students take those together.

Hajime curses under his breath, the neat printed lines of the textbook blurring together into a meaningless jumble of stark black on white. He really wishes he has Tooru’s amazing memory. Tooru can literally scan the page a few times and be able to repeat it back to Hajime perfectly, without hesitation or flaw.  _Unfair much_.

But that’s probably the reason why Tooru still has the  _time_ to watch all his weird alien movies and  _not_  spend every waking minute mugging his ass off like Hajime, trapped in the damp dusky library crammed with fellow failing students, the air filled with the crinkling of crumpled papers and loud exhalations.

Hajime checks his watch, noting that it’s only been ten minutes since Tooru left to get dinner, and startles when someone taps him politely on the shoulder.

“Iwaizumi-san… is it?” A pretty, brown haired girl asks him, and Hajime is immediately drawn to her eyes, which are the color of dark chocolate and shining with mischief.

(Tooru’s eyes are brown, too, but just a shade lighter – and Hajime thinks absently that he prefers a lighter brown.) 

“Ah… yes. And you are…?”

“Oh! I’m Sasaki Reina. We’re in the same human anatomy tutorial and dissection class – I'm actually your lab partner but I missed the class today.” She introduces herself, and even though she’s speaking formally, there’s an impish grin tugging at the edges of her mouth.

“Oh, I see. Is there something I can help you with?” Hajime asks politely. 

Her brown hair falls in artful waves over her shoulders, and she twirls a tendril around her finger as she says, “Well! I’m sorry, but I was hoping you’d know the homework Nakamura-sensei gave.” 

“Of course. Let me check.” Hajime rummages in his bag, curses his embarrassing mess of worksheets and textbooks that’s piled on his notebook, where the day’s homework is carefully jotted down, because Tooru usually can’t be bothered to take down the assignments and pesters it out of Hajime instead.

Reina plops down in the seat next to him, feet tapping the ground to the beat of song only she can hear. It’s cute, and Hajime is starting to think he might not be as gay as he thought, because he can still definitely appreciate the finer features of the female body. 

Hajime rattles off the homework quickly, and flushes when he looks up to find that she’s staring at him and smiling.

“Thank you, Iwaizumi-san!” She exclaims, and Hajime grins bashfully, says. “No problem. Also, you don’t have to be so formal. Just Iwaizumi is fine.”

“Where are you from?” She asks, and then they fall into easy conversation, one of the first Hajime has had with any sort of non-volleyball female since the beginning of high school. He learns that she’s from Kyoto, and it has always been her life ambition to become a doctor.

She’s so sure, so confident, the strong set of her shoulders and tilt of her chin, so familiar and it draws Hajime in.

She leans in then, just slightly, and their height difference becomes even more apparent, tall for a girl but still two heads shorter than him. Hajime is so used to looking up, not down.

“Iwa-chan!”

Hajime turns and is met with a faceful of Tooru, who slides an arm over his shoulder and pulls him close, tight, the other hand swinging their takeout dinner.

“Hey, idiot – “ Hajime quickly grabs the plastic bag before Tooru can spill sauce everywhere.

Tooru huffs slightly but his smile emerges even stronger as he faces Reina, but Hajime can tell it’s just his typical lady-killer smile, all bright but blindingly fake. 

“Oh, who’s this lovely lady you’ve got here?” Tooru bows extravagantly, sweeps Reina’s hand to his mouth to press a chaste kiss. 

Hajime stares a bit too long at Tooru’s lips and is slow to introduce them. “Sasaki, this is Oikawa Tooru. Oikawa, Sasaki Reina. Sasaki’s my lab partner.”   

“Oh, that’s a pity. I was hoping  _we’d_  be lab partners.” Tooru winks at her like the ultimate playboy he is, and Hajime has to physically resist shoving his fist into Tooru’s face because that idiot is  _embarrassing_ and his antics stir up something dark and unpleasant in Hajime’s stomach. 

Huh. He must be too hungry.

But he also notices that Reina hasn’t melted into a blushing mess that most girls are reduced to under the full pressure of Oikawa Tooru’s charm. She’s smiling, yes, but politely. Friendly, but not head over heels into Tooru, which is definitely a first. 

She’s different from so many of the girls Hajime has seen before, and it’s interesting. 

“I’ll see you around, Iwaizumi.” Reina smiles, and then she leaves, hair swinging behind her.

Hajime stares at her receding figure for a moment too long before turning around to pack up his study materials, a fact that isn’t lost on Tooru.

“Iwa-chan, I totally saw you checking her out.” Tooru teases, but there’s an edge hidden in there somewhere. Has Tooru already decided to that he wants to make Reina another one of the long line of girls to date? “She’s cute, though. You have good taste.” 

“Shut up.” Hajime grumbles, shoving his and Tooru’s books haphazardly into his bag. Tooru hasn’t even bothered to bring his own bag, not that he actually even  _owns_  one, since all their lectures and textbooks and worksheets are the same anyway.

That means Tooru dumps his books into Hajime's bag. The original idea - which they are  _supposed_  to follow - is that they would take turns carrying the bag, but obviously Tooru doesn't know the meaning of  _responsibility_  so the burden has, quite literally, fallen to Hajime's shoulders.  
  
"Oi, asshole, next week you're carrying this shit." Hajime grumbles, and Tooru hums distantly, mind no doubt having already flitted away to some random idea or an obscure concern.   
  
It makes Hajime grin, just the slightest bit, all of Tooru's little quirks Hajime's been picking up on over the years, like he's gathering some sort of top secret precious data – Appendix A – Oikawa Tooru drums his fingers on his pant leg when he's bored. Oikawa Tooru hums when he's walking or reading or exercising, and sometimes if Hajime is lucky, he'll sing a little, too.  
  
"Iwa-chan, there's an X-files marathon in an hour." Tooru says after dinner, phrased like a statement but delivered like a demand, shoves his face way too close into Hajime's personal space, eyes wide with excitement and silently beseeching.   
  
Hajime resists. He really does try to. After being faced with the same puppy dog eyes for almost two decades Hajime thinks he should’ve gotten inured, but apparently not.  
  
"Have you even done your homework?!" Hajime sighs, moves his face away and averts his eyes in hopes that he wouldn’t give in so quickly.  
  
"It's not even due tomorrow! I still have, like, one day."   
  
"Well,  _I_  still have to study."   
  
"Iwa-chaaaaan," Tooru whines. "You’ve studied the whole night already! A few hours couldn't hurt. Here I am, trying to bring joy into your abysmal dull life and you're not even trying."   
  
"You would bring joy into my life by staying out of it." Hajime replies dryly, but keeps his textbooks away anyway.   
  
Tooru grins victoriously and is wholly unsurprised at having won the fight - was it even a fight? Hajime doesn't think he even put up much of a struggle, he really is getting soft - and then Tooru leans to kiss him softly, eyes closed and head tilted to the side so that their noses don't bump and his soft brown hair tickles Hajime's eyelids.  
  
"Tooooru." Hajime attempts to grind out, but it flakes away in his mouth to come out feathery and light, more of gasp and a plea for more.   
  
Tooru steps back, cheeks flushed with happiness and arousal, staring at Hajime with dark eyes.  
  
"Or..." Hajime says, swallows, and starts again. "Or, we could like, spend the night making out."   
  
"Do mine ears deceive me?" Tooru fake gasps in over-dramatic shock, sending Hajime's eyeballs on a reflexive vicious roll skyward. "Is the legendary Iwaizumi Hajime, dull mugger boy supreme, offering to make out instead of studying?"  
  
"I changed my mind. I'll spend the night slowly peeling the skin off your bones." Hajime says. "Don't worry, I'm really good at it, since we just learnt how to dissect toads today."  
  
"With Sasaki, was it?" Tooru says, voice changing subtly but suddenly enough that Hajime catches it. "Your lab partner."   
  
"Nah, she was absent today." Hajime finishes clearing the table, licking his lips nervously. The mood had shifted slightly and he isn't sure if he should continue the whole let's-make-out-in-bed conversation.  
  
"Oh! She seems like a nice girl." Tooru says brightly, and Hajime doesn't have time to untangle the hidden meaning woven into that sentence before Tooru is walking towards the bedroom, calling out behind him. "Iwa-chan, hurry up, you're the one who proposed a steamy make out session and you're not even here!"   
  
"Asshole! Don't get bitter just because I don't  _come_  as fast!" Hajime yells back, and then things return to the normal, worn rhythm of familiar banter. 

If flirting with your best friend of your whole life is counted as normal. 

If kissing said best friend can even be, by any stretch of imagination,  _normal._  

And if falling in love with aforementioned best friend is something that happens to everyone. But  _nooo_ , Hajime just  _has_  to be special, this one time.

The perk, of course, is that he spends insane amounts of time with Tooru. The only time they’re  _not_  within an arms’ length of each other is during dissection class or human anatomy tutorial. And it has so far been absolutely amazing, Tooru being something familiar and stable in the constant flux and tumult of college life. 

And the downside, is that Hajime has just about one very close friend in his entire life, who he also happens to have an ultra mega gay crush on, so, there’s almost no one he can complain about Tooru to, besides Tooru himself.

“Shove over.” Hajime mumbles blearily, half-regretting and half-reveling in the post bliss of an extremely satisfying make out session which took  _much_  too long.

Tooru rolls over with a huff, but Hajime knows he’ll be back and wrapped snug around Hajime because Tooru is the ultimate bed hog.

“You’re as clingy asleep as you are awake.” Hajime complains. “Which is to say,  _extremely fucking so._ ”

“You just don’t like being the little spoon.” Tooru sniffs, turning his face away in retaliation when Hajime tries for a kiss.

“I  just like having personal space.” Hajime says, but contradicts himself as he moves closer to try and capture Tooru’s lips.

“Hmph.” Tooru stretches his neck upwards and raises himself off the bed with an elbow away from the kiss to emphasize their height difference, and Hajime jabs him in his exposed ribs so that Tooru comes crashing back down with a yelp that’s quickly smothered.

“You’ve gotten pretty good at kissing.” Tooru tells him, breathless, when they part.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Hajime says back. 

Tooru grins, teasing and soft. “What can I say, you learned from the best.”

“My tutelage isn’t complete yet.” Hajime says, voice going tight. “So no quitting. Not yet.” 

“Not yet.” Tooru agrees, and as Hajime settles in to sleep (around Tooru because yes Hajime likes being the big spoon), an invasive thought refuses to leave his head, poisoning his dreams like a particularly insidious toxin.

_“Not yet, but when?”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear, they'll get together soon


	5. Chapter 5

In the days that follow, Hajime learns that not only is his lab partner cute, Reina is attractive in a genuine, innocent kind of way.   
  
It's not the type of beauty that strikes you from the very first glance, but a prettiness that's hidden deeper, sneaking up on you in the quiet, unexpected moments that make it even more stunning, swooping down and stealing your breath away.  
  
After a few awkward times Hajime catches his gaze lingering too long too low below Reina's eye level to be considered even halfway decent, he comes to the conclusion that he is most definitely bisexual, a revelation that is as confusing as it is relieving.   
  
Is it possible to be in love and have a crush at the same time? Does that make him unfaithful?  
  
Hajime doesn't know, but he hopes to _hell_ that he is not falling for someone else while he is currently _still_ in love, because the very notion that he’s the type to easily fall in love is abhorring (his love isn’t _cheap_ ), and he _really_ doesn't need more than one unrequited love right now.  
  
Reina's in all the classes with Hajime that Tooru isn't in, so she quickly becomes his next closest friend. They've made a sort of “friend group” along with two other guys, Kojima Reiji and Murata Haruki, who are lab partners sharing the same bench as them.

As always, Hajime finds his closest friends through proximity, whether it’s the house next door or the same lab bench.

Hajime thinks he lucked out getting these three people as his bench partners because they’re all such nice people, and having Reina as his lab partner must have been a godsend, although they don't talk much outside of class, having different social circles and all (read. having Tooru constantly plastered at his side).   
  
Hajime's social circle isn't very large, since he's a pretty private guy and kind of shy, sticking close to Tooru in the first few days when everyone else was busy making friends by the dozens.   
  
(Because Tooru makes friends too easy and too fast and too many, a physical wall of bodies pressed between them that Hajime can't seem to get through.

This way, all of Tooru’s friends are Hajime’s friends, besides a few people here and there, and of course, the _fangirls_.)

Their closeness has been remarked on by quite a few of their classmates, but the excuse of childhood friends for 18 years is usually enough to quell the suggestive glances, but not the occasional teasing innuendo.   
  
Tooru still insists monopolizing almost every single second of Hajime's time, not that it's unwelcome, although he puts up the token protest now and then. He _does_ have to keep up appearances, after all.   
  
(Careful not to let too much of it show, can't act too different, or else Tooru will pick it up and it'll be game over, that smug observant bastard.)   
  
Maybe Tooru's also noticed, smiles getting softer and shining through even when he tries to smother it, when Hajime invites him to do something together, even if it's mostly going to the gym.

(Hajime misses the sight of Tooru flushed and panting, white shirt going transparent with sweat and plastered to his toned body. What used to be a daily sight has been reduced to weekly glimpses, and Hajime treasures all of them, when he isn't too busy mourning the slow but sure deterioration of his previously rock-solid biceps.)  
  
It's Tuesday, and Hajime is waiting outside lab 3 for class to start, chatting idly with Reina and the others as she talks animatedly about some medical thriller she recently got into.  
  
It's adorable, the way her eyes light up when she excited. Hajime smiles, thinking about how much she reminds him of Tooru, when he’s all delighted by the newest gory weird alien movie.

"Iwa-chan!"   
  
Tooru suddenly comes skidding around the corner to lunge himself at Hajime, who dodges almost out of reflex and accidentally whacks him in the face with his bag.  
  
Hajime blames his finely-honed self-preservation and survival instincts whenever it comes to Tooru, trained by the man himself from too many nasty experiences, involving hot coffee and “ _Iwa-chan, catch me!”_.   
  
Reina giggles, and Hajime grins back at her unconsciously.   
  
"What're you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at lab 5?" Hajime hisses exasperatedly, and Tooru groans from where he's collapsed with exaggerated pain against the wall.   
  
"Assaulting me and then nagging me? Iwa-chan has no heart." He fake sobs, and some of the more gullible girls from Hajime's class crowd over to console him.   
  
Hajime finds himself noting down the faces of girls surrounding Tooru, an ingrained habit since Tooru's first fanclub sprang up in middle school.  
  
Tooru's lady charm is back full force as he reassures them with a martyred expression that makes Hajime's fingers twitch to whap him again, but Tooru quickly shrugs out of their clutches to grab Hajime's bag and rifles through it, snags a textbook and a pencil case before speeding off.  
  
"Thanks, Iwa-chan!" He calls over his shoulder, shooting him a wink that has the girls swooning.  
  
"What the - asshole! That textbook's mine!" Hajime yells after him, but Tooru only flings up a peace sign before disappearing again.   
  
"Did he take your pencil case too?" Reina asks, laughing lightly, hand coming to rest on his shoulder.  
  
"What? Oh, nah. Half of the stuff in the bag are actually his, because we share a bag and all." Hajime replies, tries not to overthink the gentle weight on his shoulder and probably failing, but thankfully not bursting into full on blushing. “But not the textbook, that jerk.”   
  
Maybe living with Tooru has inured him to excessive bodily contact.  
  
"You share a bag?" Murata chimes in, and Hajime shrugs. "Yeah, since we live together, it's more logical to just share a bag and then take turns carrying it."   
  
"I see." Kojima nods, staring at him - not weirdly, but with consideration heavy in his gaze and Hajime momentarily panics under the weight of his sharp eyes.

 Hajime's been told that he's not exactly the most subtle guy, and he doesn't particularly need further affirmation of that fact.   
  
"But he usually doesn't even carry it, that slacker, so you'll probably be seeing me with the bag most of the time." Hajime rambles on, fidgeting slightly.

"You two sure are close." Murata says, smirking slightly and Reina laughs.   
  
Thankfully, the professor calls them in before anyone else can comment and Hajime wrinkles his nose as the smell of antiseptic and stale blood hits his nose. The lab always smells of dead animals and cadavers, which isn't the most conducive for prolonged periods of comfortable human ventilation, as Hajime is unfortunately acutely aware of.   
  
Reina kindly offers to share her textbook so they spend the rest of the lab session with shoulders pressed together and heads bent close enough over the small print that Hajime can hear her every exhale, which is more distracting than it should be, warm air ghosting over his ear that's ticklish and thrilling.  
  
She smells nice, like fresh flowers in full bloom, and for once, Hajime doesn't quite mind the scent of stale blood lingering in the air.  


 

~-~

  
  
"Hey, do I smell bad?" Hajime asks later when they're at home, Tooru sprawled out over the couch and Hajime sitting on the floor with his books spread out on the coffee table.  
  
Tooru leans over and sniffs Hajime obscenely, and Hajime flushes violently when Tooru's breath wisps across his neck, pen clutched too tight in his fist.  
  
"Like an unwashed pigsty." Tooru confirms, flopping back down to continue reading his text.   
  
"Oi, asshole, I said me, not you." Hajime says, prodding Tooru's thigh with his pen, eyes drawn to the flexing muscles underneath.  
  
Tooru groans and rolls closer to sniff at his shoulder again, mouth opening in surprise.  
  
"Hey, are you wearing perfume?" Tooru asks, confused. "You smell kind of flowery."   
  
"Oh! No." Hajime replies, flushing harder. "That's probably Sasaki."   
  
"And just what is Sasaki's perfume doing on your clothes?" Tooru shoots him a look that's suggestive and lewd but something's a little off, something that scrunches his brows together and pulls his mouth down slightly.  
  
"Because some idiot," Hajime reaches over to flick his forehead. "stole my textbook, I had to share with her."   
  
"Oh." Tooru says, expression indecipherable for a moment before he brightens, like a switch suddenly flipped, and Hajime scowls.   
  
"Why'd you ask if you smell bad, anyway?" Tooru asks.  
  
Hajime waves him off distractedly. "Nothing much. It's just that Sasaki was breathing weird? So I thought maybe I smelled bad."  
  
"Breathing weird?"   
  
"Yeah. Like, erratically. Very fast." Hajime scratches his head. "And she kept looking at me, when she thought I wasn't looking, although I swear I wore deodorant in the morning."   
  
"You probably forgot." Tooru says lightly, fingers digging into the crisp white report and sending fissures through the page. "Try not to traumatize all the girls with your foul stench, hmm Iwa-chan?"   
  
"Die." Hajime deadpans, but he catches the tight, pinched expression on Tooru's face a second before it's smoothed over.   
  
Weird. Hajime turns back around and sniffs himself surreptitiously again even though he doesn't _think_ he smells, but writes down a reminder to himself in the margins of his notebook to start wearing more deodorant anyway.   



	6. Chapter 6

“Hey, remember Refreshing-kun? And Sawamura Daichi?” Tooru says suddenly, fingers flying over his phone and Hajime looks up from where he’s trying to memorize the scientific names of the heart tissue.

“Hmm? Karasuno captain and vice-captain?” Hajime replies absently, _the heart muscle, or cardiac muscle, is scientifically known as the myocardium, my-o-car-dium._ “Oi, we came to the library to _study_.”

“Yeah, that’s the one! So we’ve been in college for almost a _month_ , you know what that means?” Tooru says, completely ignoring his workbook.

“I’ve miraculously survived through a month living with you?” Hajime mutters, shuffling worksheets to find his notes. _Myocardial contractility represents the innate ability of the heart muscle to contract. 60 – 100 beats per minute. Lub-dub, through the stethoscope._

Hajime can tell without looking that Tooru rolls his eyes. “Iwa-chan, _no_ , it means… college frat parties!!”

Tooru whisper yells the last part with a childlike enthusiasm that has Hajime smiling despite himself. _Bradycardia is slow heart rate. Tachycardia is fast heart rate._

“Don’t tell me, Sugawara actually invited _you_ …” And whatever Hajime was going to say dies in his throat when he looks up and finds Tooru’s face much closer that he’d assumed, almost bashing their noses together.

His hearts speeds up inexorably, _lubdublubdublUBDUB, 250 beats per minute,_ Hajime thinks the whole library can hear the reverberations of his heart thumping in his chest. 

 _I definitely have tachycardia_ , is the first thing that his tired messed up brain comes up with, and then he laughs and repeats it out loud because now that they’re medical students, a few lame medical jokes should be in order. 

“Oh, god, Iwa-chan, you’ve been studying way too hard to be making lame jokes like that, even if I know your heart beats faster every time you see me.” Tooru smirks, and Hajime adds on. “Yeah, from anger, because you piss me off every time I see you.”

“Iwa-chan is angry all the time, stop blaming me!” Tooru mercifully drops back down into his _own_ seat, finally getting out of Hajime’s personal space.

With his field of vision now cleared of Tooru’s face, Hajime notices Reina sitting just two seats away, one table over. She’s focusing intently on her papers, chewing on the tip of her pen, hand reaching up to tuck a stray tendril of hair behind her ear.

Cute. Hajime smiles slightly, and then Tooru breaks off mid-sentence when he realizes that Hajime is looking past him, twisting around in his seat to follow his gaze. 

“Ohhh, Iwa-chan, isn’t that your lab partner?” Tooru asks, then cuts off Hajime’s reply before it’s even fully formed. “Anyway, what do you think?”  

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Hajime says intelligently, trying very hard to tamp down the questioning tone at the end of his words and pretending that _of course_ he was listening to Tooru.

“Great!” Tooru exclaims, a little too brightly, and Hajime wonders what, exactly, he agreed to. “Don’t forget. This Saturday!”

When they’re packing up to leave, Hajime’s eyes linger on Reina until she looks up and catches him staring. 

She gins, and Hajime waves back a little sheepishly, ducks his head and catches up to Tooru quickly, refusing to meet Tooru’s eyes because he doesn’t want to see the teasing look that’s bound to be there.

Tooru bumps his shoulder against Hajime’s and discreetly takes his hand when the darkness grows deep enough that no one can see their entwined fingers.

Even after two months of holding hands, Hajime is still discovering thousands of nerve endings in his hand that must have surely been lying dead for the last seventeen years of his life, because it’s only when Tooru’s skin brushes against his own that they spark to life like electricity bolts through his veins until his hand is tingling and his head is light and swimmy.

When Tooru holds his hand, Hajime can’t hear himself _think_ , he can’t hear anything but his heart threatening to burst out of his ribcage.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short prelude to the chapter tomorrow! which will be a lot longer :P


	7. Chapter 7

The thing about Tooru, that Hajime already knows but is painfully reminded of every weekend, is that he wakes up too damn early and makes _too much noise_ for ass-o’clock in the morning.

Hajime lumbers out of bed slightly before noon and finds a note plastered to the door that says “Iwa-chan, uwu! I’m amazed you managed to haul your lazy ass off of the bed!! Anyway, I went for a quick jog, will be back in a while.”

There’s a mini drawing of what Hajime assumes to be him but looks like an extremely twisted gorilla at the bottom of the page, and Hajime is so whipped he can’t even muster up a trace of genuine annoyance.

It just makes him smile as he rips the post-it off the door and bins it, exasperated fondness bubbling too close to the surface.

Hajime stretches out on the couch, relishing in having the whole space to himself. He’s wearing a pair of loose jeans and a tank top that's been washed so many times that the color has leeched out into a dull grey. But it’s still his favorite shirt, the front of which is dominated by a massive, albeit somewhat faded Godzilla tearing through a city.

Tooru got it for him for his birthday when they were fifteen, stating that Hajime should wear a shirt that looks like him, 

(Underneath the jibe, the genuine thought in the gift is still apparent, and even though Hajime yelled and hit Tooru upside the head for his remark, he still wore it to sleep almost every night for three years.)

Tooru bursts in fifteen minutes later, ten minutes after Hajime reluctantly pulled out his homework. Tooru's wearing an excited smirk that cannot bode well for anything but trouble.  
  
"Iwa-chan~~" Tooru sings as he takes off his shoes and lines them up neatly at the side, unlike Hajime who kicks off his shoes messily at the doorway.  
  
"No." Hajime grunts from the couch, scowling at his messy sketch of what was _supposed_ to be the human skeletal system.  
  
"You haven't even - "  
  
"No."  
  
"It's - "  
  
"Whatever it is, just no."  
  
"Well!" Tooru slams his hand down on Hajime's drawing, crumpling it beyond salvation and Hajime's eyelid starts twitching. "I was gonna say that I'd treat you for lunch and dinner for the next twenty years!"  
  
"Yeah, right. Also, what the fuck asshole look you crumpled my drawing."  
  
"This?" Tooru finally notices the paper and holds it up for inspection, snorting slightly. "Oh, sorry, Iwa-chan! I thought you were just doodling a particularly deformed monkey."  
  
"I'll particularly deform your face -"  
  
"And the monkey's tail is on the wrong side!"  
  
"That's the fucking dick, asshat."  
  
Tooru tuts, flopping down into Hajime's lap and spreading his long legs out over the couch, and Hajime catches the slight wince of pain as his knee momentarily tenses. "Jeez, Iwa-chan, it's so long! How lewd, are you drawing pornos now?"  
  
"Why don't we see yours, huh, since you're so good?"  
  
"Okay!" Tooru chirps, reaches for a pencil and a fresh piece of paper and gets to work.  
  
It's amazing to watch him draw, pencil flying deftly over the paper with precise strokes, tracing out with pinpoint position all the various bones that make up the human body, the tip of his tongue protruding out of his mouth in concentration.  
  
Tooru has an eye for detail and Hajime only has eyes for Tooru, staring at him work like some creepy old paedophilic man.  
  
"Ta-da!" Tooru sings out not even five minutes later, passing the paper over smugly.  
  
It is a perfect biological model, almost exactly identical to those found in their textbooks, complete with complicated scientific terms of the human anatomy neatly labeled and Hajime inwardly marvels, beyond impressed and not above being slightly jealous.  
  
And then his eyes land on a skeletal feature labeled "Iwa-chan's penis" with a smiley face and the paper almost crumples in his hand because _there's nothing there_.  
  
"Oh, fuck you." Hajime grinds out.  
  
"With what?" Tooru laughs, and he's so pleased with his own lame joke that he just starts laughing hysterically, eyes too small and mouth too big.  
  
Hajime stares and forgets for a moment that he's supposed to be mad.  
  
"I bet I'm bigger than you, anyway." Hajime grumbles half-heartedly, and it's a challenge that no self-respecting man can turn down.  
  
Tooru stops mid-laugh with an effort, arms wrapped around his middle and wheezing, eyes shining and face aglow.  
  
_(Beautiful.)_  
  
"Wanna bet?" Tooru gasps.  
  
Well. On one hand, Hajime can't back down from this challenge and he wouldn't actually mind seeing Tooru's dick.  
  
On the other hand, he'll never live it down if Tooru actually  _is_ bigger and also, Hajime thinks he'll surely die of embarrassment before he can even unzip his pants.  
  
Do normal best friends go around comparing dick length?  
  
"Are you serious?!" Hajime chokes out.  
  
Tooru twists his body so that he's straddling Hajime, hands braced on the couch on either side of him as he leans in close. "Dead serious, Hajime."  
  
Fuck, Hajime is so screwed.  
  
"You're so fucking weird." Hajime says for a lack of anything better, pushes Tooru's face away with his palm, the other hand trying to cover his rapidly reddening face. "Oh my god."  
  
Tooru squeaks as he flails wildly and knocks Hajime's hand away from his head. There's a moment when Tooru stills, just sitting there, and Hajime's still covering his face but he can practically see the smug asshole smirk on his dumb face.  
  
"Iwa-chan, it's a guy thing!" Tooru whines, bouncing slightly with the force of his emotion and Hajime's pupils dilate because Tooru needs to _get off his goddamn lap._  
  
"Guy thing or gay thing?"  
  
"Same thing!" Tooru huffs, crossing his arms petulantly over his chest and looking almost exactly like a five year old throwing a tantrum. A particularly tall, charming and adorable five year old, that is. "All guys do it! "  
  
Hajime removes his hand to glare at Tooru. "Do not."  
  
"Do too."  
  
"Do not."  
  
"Do too."  
  
From past experience, Hajime knows he won't be winning this "who-is-more-stubborn" fight anytime soon so he gives up, trying in vain to change the subject. "What were you going to say when you came home anyway?"  
  
"Stop changing the topic!"  
  
“Come _on_!” Tooru exclaims, and then grinds down on Hajime in a move that’s probably meant to be playful, but still makes Hajime’s breath hitch and his hips buck slightly. 

His hands hover in front of Tooru uncertainly, unsure whether to pull him closer or shove him away, but the decision is made for him when Tooru takes his hands and brings them to cup his face. 

“You can touch me if you want, you know.” Tooru grins, quickly, shyly, flushing despite his words, eyes flitting to meet Hajime’s eyes and then away. 

Tooru's not the smug, overbearing arrogant asshole everyone seems to think he is, and Hajime loves to see all the other sides of Tooru, and especially the vulnerable, shy one.

It’s so impossibly endearing, and Hajime groans. “God, Tooru, I swear, it’s like you _want_ me to eat your face clean off.”

And then he crashes their mouths together in a sloppy, over-enthusiastic kiss that gets saliva everywhere and teeth scraping skin, but Hajime can't care less.

(He can’t care less about anything when he kisses Tooru. That’s how powerful the feeling is. It is all-consuming, all-empowering.)

Tooru keens, high and loud and needy, when Hajime pulls away, slipping his cold hands under Hajime’s shirt and running them over his abs.

Hajime takes Tooru’s hand and presses it to his chest, slightly to his left breastbone. 

“Right here.” Hajime whispers. 

( _Right here, right when you touch me, it’s full to bursting, swelling up so much I’m half-afraid it’ll explode.)_

 _(Oikawa Tooru, you may just be the death of me.)_

_(Please don’t break my heart.)_

“Your heart’s beating awfully fast.” 

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Got you all hot and flustered now, did I?” Tooru smirks.

“Do you remember,” Hajime says through gritted teeth, “what we agreed on the very first time we kissed?”

Tooru pretends to think. “That you were extremely lucky?” 

“ _No_.” Hajime says. “We agreed never to kiss while straddling because _this_ happens.”

He gestures angrily to their nether regions, or as angry as he can, because humiliation is quickly winning over his anger. 

“I quite like this position myself.” Tooru remarks cheekily, and then he moves his hips slightly, teasingly. 

That little motion is enough to Hajime gasp out loud, his libido screaming at him to pin Tooru down and _ravage him_ , and Hajime pushes the urge down helplessly. 

(Tooru's so good at this, he must've had loads of experience. This probably doesn't even mean anything to him.)

Tooru grinds down again, both hands splayed out on Hajime’s chest, pupils blown wide with lust and mouth hanging open slightly, little pants filling in the air between them.

 _Oh god, finally,_ Hajime thinks. And then the practical, no nonsense part of his brain kicks in, or rather, kicks his libido  _out_  – _nope nope nope, going too far too fast I am nOT ready for this._

So Hajime pushes Tooru off and rolls onto him instead, pinning him down and tucking his head into the crook of Tooru’s neck so Tooru can't see how embarrassingly red he is.

“If I compare dick length with you, will you leave me alone?” Hajime asks into Tooru’s shirt, breathing in the scent of detergent and Tooru’s own musky smell, something that’s been comforting and familiar since they first started stinking up the house in puberty.

“Yes! It’s a deal.” Tooru scrambles out from under him and unbuttons Hajime’s jeans before Hajime can stop him, yanking down the zipper with a sound that’s suddenly all sorts of obscene, the vibration sending little sparks of pleasure tingling all the way down to his toes.

( _God_. Hajime's toes curl into the floor and he has to repress a shudder because that would be even more mortifying.)

Tooru proceeds to yank off his own sweatpants in one clean motion, and Hajime sighs resignedly and wriggles out of his jeans.

Stripping together isn’t even exciting anymore after all those times in the locker room, which is somewhat disappointing. Hajime thinks that the first time you strip for your best friend with a more romantic intent than to take a shower should have some sort of greater fanfare, but he supposes seeing Tooru standing there completely unselfconsciously in his green and black alien patterned boxers  _does_ have it's own appeal, too.

And it is just as Hajime peels one leg out of his jeans that the doorbell rings. 

_Fuck._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey lol here's your promised chapter!!
> 
> also happy chinese new year to all of you out there who celebrate it - and so there might be no posting next week!! 
> 
> (which may or may not be the reason why i left it as a cliffhanger)


	8. Chapter 8

Hajime stares at Tooru in horrified silence for a moment of frozen confusion before he whips around and tries furiously to tug his pants back on while making a mad dash for the bedroom.  
  
He fails, resoundingly, crashing into the coffee table before hitting the floor, his breath knocked out of him painfully and jeans still tangled around his feet.  
  
"Fuck!" He yelps again loudly, for good measure. Tooru is laughing hysterically at his pain somewhere behind him, that sadist, and the doorbell rings again.  
  
"I'll get it!" Tooru chirps and stands up to do just that, like he isn't _half-naked_ and Hajime isn't lying on the floor with his pants off.  
  
Hajime hopes to hell that there isn't some poor unsuspecting delivery boy or friendly neighbor waiting out there only to have their virgin minds soiled with this sorry sight.  
  
"Fuck you, oh my god." Hajime splutters, finally managing to pull his jeans up to a decent height, face burning and back aching from where he fell. "Don't you dare -"  
  
"Yo!" Oikawa says brightly, flinging open the door to reveal Hanamaki and Matsukawa. Hajime takes one look at their matching expressions of unfurling glee before thinking that he would much rather some poor unsuspecting delivery boy, virgin mind be damned.  
  
He thinks any mental scarring would pale in comparison to Hajime's fast impeding suffering at the hands of the matching devils at the door.  
  
Hajime groans in defeat. He really needs to get new friends.  
  
"Did we... interrupt something?" Hanamaki ventures as they stroll in, glancing meaningfully at their various states of undress and flushed cheeks.  
  
Hajime yanks his jeans shut and zips it up roughly, actions jerky with mounting embarrassment, not bothering to turn around to flip them off and making no move to reply, so it's Oikawa who speaks up.  
  
"Of course not, Makki! Iwa-chan just lost a fight with his jeans. And the coffee table. And the floor."  
  
"But he won the fight with _your_ pants?" Matsukawa drawls, immediately heading to the kitchen to raid their fridge. "Man, Iwaizumi, I didn't know you were gay."  
  
"I think being gay has made my taste turn to shit." Hajime starts to agree, but then pauses when the three of them turn to face him with varying degrees of shock.  
  
"You're actually gay?" Matsukawa gasps, trying and failing to look surprised through the chocolate wafer sticking out of his mouth.  
  
"Your taste actually used to be good?" Hanamaki asks.  
  
"Iwa-chan, are you saying that I'm your type?!" Oikawa exclaims loudly, pouncing on Hajime with too much force and knocking him back down onto the floor.  
  
"Oh my god, get off." Hajime says, wriggling out from Oikawa's bulk, evading Oikawa’s question. "And yes, I'm actually gay."  
  
"Since when?" Matsukawa demands, slamming a can of newly opened coke violently onto the counter. "And you never told us? What kind of friend are you?"  
  
"I only found out recently." Hajime says defensively. "But I thought it was kinda obvious? I never really dated much? Aren’t you supposed to be the observant, all-knowing one?"  
  
"In fact, yes." Matsukawa grins triumphantly, look much too pleased with Hajime’s sexuality and Hanamaki groans.  
  
"Don't tell me you bet on me." Hajime says, and Matsukawa smirks. "I just got myself a free trip to Disney Sea."  
  
"Makki, what kind of boyfriend are you? You should've brought him there anyways." Oikawa starts to say, and then Hajime tunes out at this point, knowing the conversation is only going to deteriorate into inane arguments regarding the finer nuances of proper courtship.  
  
"So, Iwaizumi." Matsukawa flops next to Hajime on the couch. "Anyone you like so far?"  
  
Hajime desperately wrenches his mind away from Tooru, keeps his gaze carefully on Matsukawa’s face and not the laughing brunette behind.  
  
"Uh, kinda? It’s a girl though." He says for a lack of anything better, because he isn’t going to start spouting his secret love with said love two meters away. But Hajime thinks that it might not be too bad to tell someone about it, because being in love and having no one to confide in gets a little lonely.  
  
"Oh?" Matsukawa says. He winces slightly, then smirks when Hajime looks at him questioningly. "And here I was thinking that you were going be a loner forever."  
  
"Can’t, even if I tried." Hajime grunts, jerking a thumb at Tooru. "That guy’s around nearly twenty-four seven."  
  
" _Is_ he now?" Matsukawa mutters under his breath, not in the least surprised. Then he straightens and holds out a hand to Hajime solemnly, if not a little sadly. "Well then, my friend, I wish you the best of luck in your romantic endeavors, gay or otherwise. May you get laid sometime before your balls sag to your knees."  
  
Matsukawa ignores Hajime’s spluttering of "balls don’t sag to your knees, what the hell?!" and turns around to announce grandly, "Well then, let’s be off!"  
  
"Off? Off where?" Hajime asks warily, and Hanamaki looks at him in shock.  
  
"To Sugawara’s party, of course. Oikawa, did you not tell him?" Hanamaki says.  
  
"Oh. Right. I was going to, but we got," Tooru looks at Hajime and _winks_. "distracted."  
  
"What were you two even doing?" Matsukawa asks.  
  
"Nothing that involved sex, so keep your mind out of the sewer." Hajime cuts in quickly. "Also, I never agreed to go to some party."  
  
"Did too!" Tooru says, and he’s right up in Hajime’s personal space again, and he actually stomps his foot a little, like five-year-olds when they’re demanding an extra piece of candy.  
  
Which is totally not the most endearing thing Hajime has ever seen and makes him melt just a little bit more inside. Whatever. Hajime tucks this moment into the back of his mind for future reference.  
  
"We were at the library, remember? Or were you too busy staring at Sasaki?" Tooru continues.  
  
" _Whaat? Noo_." Hajime drags out. "Right. Of _couse_ I remember. Frat party, duh."  
  
Then he looks longingly towards the couch, with its comfortable throw pillows and plump cushions, gaze wandering to the loose sheets of homework fluttering on the ground.  
  
And then he looks back at Tooru, which his crossed arms and pouted lips, rich brown eyes dark with an incoming tantrum.  
  
(Mostly though, he looks at Tooru and tries not to melt visibly because how could he say no to those eyes?)  
  
Waste my time on a party it is, he thinks grimly, then trudges into the bedroom to dress himself for war.

 

~-~

  
  
Of course, it’s still much too early for a party, so the four of them simply spend most of the day window shopping and basically hanging out and catching up with each other’s lives.  
  
Hanamaki and Matsukawa have always been very tactile people by nature, not to mention in possession of a downright lewd sense of humor that they delight to use at any given moment, to Tooru’s wild amusement and Hajime’s embarrassment.  
  
Hajime is pretty sure most of Tooru’s amusement derives from Hajime’s suffering, because Tooru is an asshole like that.  
  
It makes Hajime’s heart swell to see Hanamaki take Matsukawa’s hand unabashedly on the street in full daylight, to share secret smiles which they would sometimes surreptitiously kiss off each other’s mouths when the streets empty out.  
  
It also makes him more than a bit jealous, and he can’t help but glance at Tooru.  
  
Tooru is watching them interact with his usual smile plastered across his face, but it’s softer, warmer, and Hajime can see his own yearning reflected back at him when their eyes meet.  
  
Hajime reaches out to squeeze Tooru’s hand, just once, quickly, not waiting to see if Tooru will shrug him off or squeeze back, not wanting to find out.    
  
Tooru turns to smile at him, but it’s twisted and painful and something is horribly wrong with it, but Tooru whips back around too fast before Hajime can get a good read.  
  
But Hajime doesn’t need to see that smile again, constricted and painful. He thinks he knows what it means. He can feel it too, right around his chest where his heart lies.  


~-~

  
As it turns out, _war_ takes place and shots are fired in one of Suga’s uncle’s empty houses, which was entrusted to Suga to house sit for the weekend. It was supposed to be just a Karasuno gathering, but, as a bald over-enthusiastic high schooler shouts at him excitedly over the music, we decided why not invite all the volleyball guys! From all the schools we played with before! Wouldn’t that be the most _awesome_ party ever? Right? Right?  
  
Right, Hajime agrees, voice almost drowned out by the loud thrumming of pop music blaring through various loudspeakers.

  
So we stole Suga’s phone and sent invites to everyone we knew! Bald Guy continues to shout. Including you! And Oikawa-san! I didn’t think so many people would come, but the more the merrier, eh?  
  
Does Suga actually even know we’re here? Hajime starts to ask, but then Bald Guy lets out an excited whoop and promptly vanishes into the crowd.  
  
Hajime stares at the empty space where the Karasuno player had just vanished from for a moment, then shakes his head and decides that he definitely needs to get a drink if he’s going to survive this battlefield for the next hour.  
  
He lost Tooru somewhere along the way, which isn’t surprising in and of itself, because he’s probably gone to sweet talk one of the girls, Hajime speculates, the thought leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, one that is quickly becoming familiar.

  
Hajime is pretty disorientated by the loud noise and mass of grinding bodies, trying futilely to find an empty bedroom to sit and breathe, but after he walks in on more than one couple getting pretty darn intimate he decides he’d rather risk deafness than see more live pornography than he ever wanted.  
  
He spots Suga talking with someone with spiky black hair… volleyball player from… Nekoma? Was his name Kuroo?  
   
They wave him over and Kuroo smirks at him, handing him a plastic cup that no doubt contains some sort of questionable liquid.

  
"Ah, Iwaizumi. I didn’t know you were coming!" Suga says, grinning sheepishly, looking only faintly annoyed.  
  
"Did you know half the people were going to be coming?" Hajime asks, and Suga shakes his head mournfully.  
  
"We had to send some people out to buy more chips and drinks." Suga says, but he’s smiling. "It’s pretty fun, though, to catch up with all the volleyball players."  
  
"Is it only volleyball players?"  
  
"Nah, Tanaka got overly excited and sent out invites to a whole bunch of his friends." Suga complains, but he doesn’t look angry, not really, so Hajime laughs along with Kuroo. "Some from your university, too. You might be seeing them around!"  
  
There’s a sudden crash from the general direction of the kitchen, and Suga immediately pales and rushes off to see what happened.  
  
"You gonna try that?" Kuroo gestures to the cup in Hajime’s hand. "I made it myself."  
  
Hajime takes a tentative sip and almost spits it back out, the alcohol so potent that it stings his eyes.  
  
"God, is this rubbing alcohol?" Hajime splutters and Kuroo laughs, but Hajime notices Kuroo’s eyes darting across the crowded room rapidly, like he’s trying to find someone.  
  
"Drink up! There’s more from where that came from." Kuroo says, and then he suddenly lights up and throws his hands in the air, running off with a yell that sounds very much like "BOOOOOOOOOO", like a particularly tall, loud ghost.  
  
Hajime is wondering if it’s normal to be continuously ditched by people at a party when someone taps him on the shoulder.  
  
Turning around somewhat warily, he’s pleasantly surprised to find Reina. She’s obviously dressed up, a tight-fitting dress clinging to her curves tantalizingly, emphasizing her legs, though while long and lithe, are shorter and thinner than the ones Hajime are so used to, splayed over his lap and twined around his own.  
  
Even so, he can appreciate Reina’s figure. She may not be Tooru, but that’s the whole point, isn’t it? That she _isn’t_ him. Hajime doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed, but then she grins at him, lip gloss sparkling and eye liner making her eyes look even more striking than before.  
  
Relieved, Hajime thinks. Tooru will no doubt have already secured himself a small crowd of hopeful fangirls, perhaps even bedding one before the night is over. So why shouldn’t he do the same?  
  
"Hey." Hajime says, straining his voice to be heard over the music, then lets his eyes rove over her body appreciatively. "You look amazing."  
  
"So smooth." She laughs, leaning in close to talk into his ear. "You don’t look too bad yourself."  
  
Hajime glances down at his clothes and rather belatedly realizes that he’s wearing a sweatshirt he wore the day before with plain denim jeans, the very ones he had shed in the living room under Tooru’s heavy gaze. If he had known he was meeting Reina, he probably would’ve worn something a bit flashier.  
  
Unwittingly, his mind drifts to Tooru, his exuberant love of clothes and shopping and, admittedly, good fashion sense. But then again, Tooru looks good in almost anything, it’s unfair, really.  
  
He tugs at his shirt collar, feeling somewhat embarrassed. He shouts something, but she shakes her head, confused.  
  
"Let’s go out!" He shouts, motioning to the balcony, and she nods enthusiastically, latching on to his arm before the crowd can pull them apart.  
  
They step into the cool, fresh air, and Hajime revels in the inky blackness, free of pulsing lights and crash of drums, slides the glass door shut to block out the chaos inside.  
  
"Thank god." Hajime groans, leaning his elbows on the railings.  
  
"Not one for parties, are you?" Reina laughs, moving to stand beside him, the moonlight turning her hair silver.  
  
"I was forced here."  
  
"By Oikawa-san?" Reina guesses, regarding him shrewdly. "The two of you sure are close."  
  
"Well," Hajime rolls his shoulders, thinking about falling in love, about kisses stolen during the night, hands held in the dark. "I’ve known him almost my whole life."  
  
" _Abnormally_ close." She presses, and then pauses when Hajime shifts uncomfortably. "Oh, sorry! Not that it’s any of my business, but I was just wondering if you two were… you know…"  
  
Hajime stares at her blankly, half-thrilled to at least be mistaken as dating Tooru, half-terrified that she’s onto him.  
  
"Dating." She says finally, ducking her head slightly, hair swinging to frame her face. "But I’m not homophobic or anything! I totally support your gay relationship. Just curious."  
  
Hajime laughs at her rambling and hasty defense, and while he’s strongly tempted to lie that he is, indeed, dating Tooru, the truth is too obvious.  
  
"Us, dating?" Hajime fakes a laugh, eyes going squinty with his wince. "Nah. We’re not like that."  
  
Not like we’re both gay. Or in a totally non-romantic, somewhat homoerotic best-friendship relationship thingy with lots of platonic making out on the side. Oh, and the occasional frottage.  
  
"Oh." Reina says, then smiles, cheerfully. She starts to talk about something else, but at that moment, he spots Tooru pressed up to the wall just beside the glass doors, a pretty girl practically climbing onto him.  
  
His chest tightens, like a metal band crushing his heart, squeezing until all that’s left is pain. He only remembers that he’s still holding the drink Kuroo gave him when it crumples in his fist, and he quickly raises it to his mouth and gulps it all down.  
  
It burns a line of fire down his throat and settles in the pit of his stomach, a coiled snake that hasn’t yet bitten. The alcohol would kick in soon enough.  
  
Reina watches him quizzically, and Hajime smiles apologetically. "Sorry, but I think I’m going to head in for another drink. Since it's a party, we might as well enjoy the free drinks."  
  
Reina laughs lightly. "Well, why not?”

He proffers his arm out to her in an uncharacteristic gesture of dramatic chivalry, smiling distantly over at her, says, "Well then, my lady, let's go and get wasted."  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoho cockblockeddd also thanK you to @linosity for beta-ing my fic!!!!! ehehhehe i really appreciate it :D and constantly encouraging me and giving me Good Plot Ideas when i run out of good stuff to write :PP


	9. Chapter 9

The night passes in a flurry of drinks and music so loud Hajime can't hear himself think, which is just the way he likes it as he knocks back alcohol like there's no tomorrow.

Communication with Reina has now devolved into touches and frantic gesturing, and somewhere along the way her soft hand has come to wrap around his bicep because they're both a little too tipsy and there's nothing wrong with leaning on each other.

Leaning on someone who isn't Tooru is a first, but Hajime will learn. He  _ needs _ to.

(He’s sick of always being the one watching Tooru flirt with girls and hurting. He wants Tooru to hurt for a bit, too.)

_ (…will Tooru even hurt, seeing Hajime with girls? Will he feel anything at all?) _

The music softens and blooms into a slow, romantic song, and all across the house, people are pairing up and swaying to the beat. The lighting is dimmed, and Hajime spots Tooru with an arm around the waist of the same girl by the glass doors, but Tooru’s staring straight at him. Hajime ignores him, turning to catch Reina’s eyes.

There is an unspoken invitation there, and he hesitates – then one of the more enthusiastic dancers knock into Reina, and Hajime automatically reaches out to steady her, but his hand has long since turned to a floppy extension of human meat that doesn't seem to respond to his brain, landing somewhat lower than he intended and Reina flushes bright through her intoxication.

Without thinking, Hajime pulls her close. He moves his hand up to press against the small of her back, their hips mashing together and eyes locked.

Maybe it's the alcohol, or the pent up sexual frustration, or the familiar ache of seeing Tooru with someone else - Hajime finds himself leaning in close to Reina's face.

_ I'm going to kiss her, _ Hajime thinks, hazily, confused. And then, a little spitefully –  _ I hope Tooru sees.  _

Reina grins slightly, blush intensifying, but tilts her chin up and holds his gaze.

Now that he's really actually going to kiss a girl, Hajime pauses.

But he doesn’t pause because he’s nervous, or excited. Which is  _ exactly _ why he paused.

Because every kiss with Tooru has been electricity shooting down his spine and fireworks exploding in the sky, the moment before the kiss bursting with apprehension and anticipation.

Hajime doesn't know if he's relieved or disappointed. He realizes, in that moment, that he doesn't actually  _ want _ to kiss Reina, because the thought of kissing her makes him feel exactly nothing.

_ (Tooru’s spoilt me for life.) _

It is a sobering revelation, and he feels intensely guilty in that split second of indecision, because Reina is obviously expecting to be kissed, and Hajime doesn't want to be a jerk and blow her off like that.

It is therefore an immense relief when an arm wraps around his waist and pulls him away forcefully. Hajime tries not to look too happy at the intervention and scowls, or tries to. He's too busy trying not to trip over his feet because the sudden movement makes his world spin and flash with blips of colors.

"Ugh." Hajime slings an arm around his savior, trying not to puke. "Whaddafug."

"Sorry, Sasaki-san! I think Iwa-chan here has had a little too much to drink, and I wouldn't want him to be assaulting a pretty lady such as yourself."

Hajime groans, but decides at the last moment that any potential pleasure of slamming his knees into Tooru's very sensitive male organ would not be worth the energy it takes to lift his foot off the ground. And also maybe because he might have plans for Tooru’s said male organ, somewhere in the hypothetical future.

"Oh!" Reina blinks, surprised, and when Hajime looks up at her blearily, her gaze is thoughtful and slightly puzzled. Tooru’s grip tightens and he yanks Hajime closer to his side, and Hajime can feel Tooru’s shoulders going stiff and tense under his arm.

The intermittent flashes of light coupled with Hajime’s limited vantage point makes it hard to see Tooru’s expression, but Hajime has a vague feeling that Tooru’s glaring. He’s angry, that much Hajime knows.

_ Good _ , Hajime thinks vengefully, and with a confusing amount of relief. 

And then Reina’s expression screws into a wince with understanding and she looks apologetic and embarrassed.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t know." She says sincerely, bowing to Tooru, who just watches her, still as a statue and just as cold. Hajime wants to kick him for being a rude asshole.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." Tooru says at last, and Reina glances at Hajime, looking slightly miffed.

"Good luck." She offers instead, an olive branch, and Tooru nods. Something seems to pass between them, and then Tooru’s shoulders relax as Reina turns to leave.

Tooru strides quickly out of the house, Hajime half-stumbling, half-dragged beside him. 

"Wait – wait," Hajime gasps, almost pitching face-first into the ground when Tooru stops suddenly. He braces his hands on his shaking knees, swallows back bile and the bitter, acrid taste of shame.

Hajime isn’t thinking clearly – he’s pretty wasted – but he’s still coherent enough to formulate sentences.

"Why the  _ hell _ ," he gasps. "are you so  _ mad _ ?"

"Why?!" Tooru rounds on him, fury whittling his tone down to cutting sharpness. " _ Why?! _ You know  _ perfectly well _ why."

"No." Hajime straightens up to meet Tooru’s anger, feet apart against the wave of dizziness. He raises his chin defiantly and stares Tooru in the eye. "I don’t."

"Don’t fuck with me!" Tooru almost shouts. He’s so angry he’s hyperventilating, fists clenching and unclenching by his sides. He's so angry he's gone past the cold-fury stage to the loud and yelling stage, and  he's truly furious. There’s so much anger and energy within him, bursting to come out and sparking in angry tones, flashing in his eyes, the overload of emotion causing his frame to tremble slightly. "You and – and that  _ girl _ ."

"So what if I’m with a girl?" Hajime challenges, tongue tripping over his words, not quite managing to keep up with his anger.

"You only did it to get at  _ me _ ! Of  _ course _ I’m mad!"

"You think everything’s 'bout you?" Hajime growls, voice raised to meet Tooru’s in volume. "Why'dya even care if I kiss a girl or two?"

"Oh  _ please _ . Give me some credit, Hajime. I know you better than that." Tooru says, and his voice is raw all bundled up in pride to make sure the hurt won't show. When it comes out, shaking and low, it sounds more pleading than angry. "You didn’t even  _ want _ to kiss her."

_ How does he know _ – Hajime starts to think, and then, almost immediately –  _ He doesn’t. He’s hoping, desperately. _

"I hate it when you do that." Tooru is still talking, but his tone has changed slightly, softer, sharper, the glint in his eyes more from moisture than anger. "Do you know how I  _ feel _ ?"

The anguish in Tooru's voice stops Hajime cold, and he instinctively thinks  _ I fucked up _ and  _ but why would he care _ -

Oh. Hajime stares, all thought processes grinding to a stop, befuddled and completely floored.  _ Oh. _

It clicks. Everything makes sense now.

_ (Oh.) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hELLo yes i am alive and i will be updating in 3 days!! as sad as it is, the end is coming real soo so be prepared for Resolution


	10. Chapter 10

Tooru cares. Tooru likes him, in that way.

 _God_ , Hajime's such an idiot. He needs to do something, to make up, _say_ something, tell him -

"And you think I don't feel the same way?!" Hajime yells, saying an " _i love you too_ " in the only way he knows how. "Shittykawa. Stupidkawa. Always going out with those girls. You think I'm fine with watching you do that? _Dumby_ kawa."

Hajime's voice cracks at the last word and he really does hurl, managing to stumble over to the grass before he violently retches up his dinner.

It's only when he stops gagging that he becomes aware of a warm weight at his side and a hand rubbing circles into his back. Hajime groans and rests his head against Tooru's shoulder, gratefully taking the offered tissue to wipe at his mouth.

"Wow, you really _are_ drunk." Tooru says, laughing a little weakly, anger forgotten.

Hajime smiles a little shakily and lets himself flop against Tooru's warmth, leaning his weight wholly against Tooru's broader frame. "Wow, you really _are_ an asshole."

Tooru snorts and tries to stand up, but Hajime clings on tight and goes totally limp.

"Iwa-chan, come on, you have to help me here!" Tooru whines.

"This is how I feel every time I have to lug your drunk ass home." Hajime snickers gleefully and then laughs, reaches out to pinch Tooru's nose.

"Karma is a bitch." Hajime tells him seriously. "And it's out to get you."

Tooru reddens, his flush visible even by the dim streetlamps and Hajime's wavering vision, and _god_ , Tooru's so obvious, Hajime has been _so blind_ this whole time.

(Hajime’s starting to understand what people mean when they say “ _love is blind_ ”.)

"Carry me!" Hajime says, pitching his voice low and plaintive, the way Tooru does when he wants something ridiculous, peeking out through his eyelashes and tugging at the hem of Tooru’s shirt.

"But you're heavy! And covered in puke!" Tooru's face screws up and he looks disgusted but also considering it, but mostly disgusted at himself for considering it, the way Hajime looks when Tooru wants something ridiculous.

"I can't walk." Hajime says, stretching out fully on the sidewalk, pressing his face into Tooru’s stomach, arms wrapped around Tooru’s torso so he couldn’t walk away even if he tried.

“Iwa-chan!” Tooru half-laughs, half-groans, exasperation wavering into fondness by the drop of his voice, the softness in his eyes.

“I’m always carrying you.” Hajime points out, sighing the words into Tooru’s shirt, nuzzling closer and fully enjoying the way Tooru tenses up under him, hands coming to rest lightly on his head. “It’s only fair if you return the favour.”

Hajime chances a glance upwards, and Tooru’s staring down at him, mouth slightly open and eyes wide with wonder, like Hajime’s the most beautiful star shining in the sky.

Tooru’s expression twists, adoration and reluctance battling across his features. “Fine.”

Hajime grins, suddenly warm all over with that single word, the admission making him feel stupidly happily.

 _This is what Tooru must feel all the time._ Hajime thinks. _Note to self: be nicer to Tooru._

Tooru grunts as Hajime clambers onto his back, hands coming to grip Hajime’s thighs and staggering slightly under his weight.

Hajime wraps his legs around Tooru’s waist and his arms around Tooru’s neck, burying his face into Tooru’s hair and breathing in deep.

“Forward, minion!” He says, pointing an unsteady hand out like a royal command.

“Iwa-chan, it’s a good thing you’re so short! Makes you easier to carry, even if you weigh a ton.” Tooru says. “Small, tiny, Iwa-chan!”

“I’m actually really long.” Hajime replies. “Mattsun and Makki just interrupted before we could compare.”

Tooru’s shoulders shake as he laughs, and Hajime brings a hand to cup the side of Tooru’s face, tilting his head sideways to place a kiss on his temple.

“We can try again later.” Hajime slurs, vision dimming, lulled by the irrepressible pull of alcohol and the soothing, rhythmic gait of Tooru’s steps, the warmth of Tooru’s back bleeding into his chest.

“If this is what being drunk is like, I need to drink more often.” Hajime mumbles.

Tooru snorts. “Please don’t.”

Hajime tilts his head to look up at the sky, but the city lights here in Tokyo are too bright, and there aren’t many stars to be seen.

“I miss the stars in Miyagi. Tokyo sucks.” Hajime says, somewhat petulantly. The sky is swimming before him, and he frowns. “The stars need to stop moving.”

“Iwa-chan, you know, I thought you’d be a grouchy drunk, since you’re so grumpy all the time, but I never thought you’d be a talkative drunk!”

Hajime ignores him. “What’s your favourite star? Not constellation. One star.”

“Iwa-chan, that’s too hard! I have way too many favourites.” Tooru says, and then there’s quiet, just the sound of Tooru’s labored breathing and footfalls on the empty street. Hajime waits patiently, curling his fingers into Tooru’s hair as the seconds tick by.

“The north star, probably. It’ll always point me in the right direction, and guide me home. In fact, I want to live on the star, so that _I’ll_ be the one people look to for guidance!” Tooru says at last, then huffs out a soft laugh. “And also because I never want to be lost.”

“I’ll find you, if you’re lost.” Hajime says confidently, because that’s what Hajime has been doing his whole life, that’s what he’s best at.

“Iwa-chan, I didn’t mean _that_ kind of lost – ”

“I won’t let you lose, either.”

“Not like _that_ – ”

“And I won’t lose you, ever.”

Tooru doesn’t reply to that, just ducks his head and clings on to Hajime tighter, like he’s scared Hajime will fall of his back, even though Hajime _thinks_ he’s pretty secure.

“But if you _do_ go and live on some star,” Hajime starts, trying to speak coherently even though his brain feels like a ball of cotton. “I’ll have to go and live with you, because north star or not, your trashy ass will definitely find a way to get lost if I’m not there to find you.”

Tooru stops walking so abruptly that Hajime really almost does fall off.

“ _Oi_ , shittykawa – “ Hajime tries to say, but his tongue trips over the insult.

“Iwa-chan, you’re not being fair.” Tooru says, voice low and trembling. “You can’t say stuff like that when I can’t kiss you.”

“Sure you can.” Hajime says hopefully, but Tooru cuts in. “You have _vomit_ all over your mouth!”

“What about later?” Hajime presses. “Will you kiss me later, if I rinse my mouth?”

“I kind of feel like I’m taking advantage of you, since you’re completely smashed.”

“It’s not taking advantage if I’m willing.” Hajime points out. “ _Very_ willing.”

“Iwa-chan, oh my god, you’re a _horny_ drunk as well!”

“Only for you.” Hajime meant for it to come out teasing, but his tongue feels like lead in his mouth and it comes out heavy with sincerity instead. “Don’t worry, I’ll still be horny for you tomorrow.”

When they reach home, Tooru dumps him rather unceremoniously on the bed, complaining loudly about how Hajime is “way heavier than you look! It must be because you’re so dense”, and Hajime rolls over on the bed, all ready to fall asleep.

Tooru climbs in after him, and Hajime loves how he can just reach out and pull Tooru close.

_(Tooru loves me too.)_

“Clingy drunk.” Tooru mutters under his breath, which Hajime ignores.

“Tooru.” Hajime mumbles, holding on desperately to his consciousness, suddenly struck by a need to talk. “I’m glad.”

“For what?”

“That you broke your leg.” Hajime says, and then cracks his eyes open with immense effort when Tooru pulls away, shocked.

“What the fuck?” Tooru exclaims, disbelief and anger not quite covering up the confusion in his voice.

“No – no!” Hajime reaches out to curl his fingers around Tooru’s wrist, exhaling harshly. “Wait. That didn’t come out right.”

“No _shit_.” Tooru scowls.

“I meant – I meant that I’m glad, that we’re here now. That we have this.” Hajime says haltingly, struggling to find the right words, swaying slightly and Tooru scoots closer so that Hajime can lean on him. “I’m really selfish, but I’m glad you didn’t go pro. You would never have been satisfied, you’d have burnt out, kept pushing until something broke.”

“I’m selfish, but… I like how it is now, that we’re together. I’m glad it turned out this way.” Hajime breathes, and _really_ , he practically just told Tooru “ _I love you so much_ ”.

Tooru laughs a little breathlessly, hiccupping a little. “I’m happy, too, I guess. It didn’t turn out all bad.”

“You’re the kind of person who – who – “ Hajime scrunches up his nose trying to think of how to phrase his words. “You’re always all or nothing. If you can’t have it all, you won’t have it at all.”

Tooru hums thoughtfully, neither affirming nor denying Hajime’s proclamation.

And then he smirks, cooing, “Sentimental drunk.”

Hajime tries to whack him, but fails, falling forwards only to be caught by Tooru’s strong arms.

 _But Tooru has always been kind of an idiot_ , Hajime reasons, vision fading to black. _I’d better tell him, just to be sure._

“Shh.” Tooru whispers, carding his fingers through Hajime’s hair. “Go to sleep.”

Hajime loses the battle against his eyelids, and his last thought before he succumbs to oblivion is “… _I’ll tell him that I love him in the morning._ ” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sneak preview NEXT CHAPTER:
> 
> hajime wakes up with a pounding headache and an insistent feeling that he forgot something important.
> 
> HHAHAHA just kidding! ........kind of


	11. Chapter 11

Hajime wakes up with a truly incredible hangover and an insistent, niggling feeling that he forgot something important.

But there are other things to worry about right now, like if he's going to survive the morning or if the thing clawing at the insides of his head and twisting in his gut will devour him from the inside out first.

His mouth is grimy and dry and tastes like... well, something really very horrible he'd rather not linger too long on. There's a glass of water sitting on the bedside table next to two pills of aspirin, both of which he chugs down gratefully.

_ Note to self: thank Tooru later _ , Hajime thinks, and then his thought processes trail off as the phrase snags on a memory, one where he's - he's lying on the road? And Tooru is looking down at him, looking impossibly happy.

Hajime groans and clambers out of his warm cocoon of blankets to get to the bathroom. He isn't sure he even wants to remember what happened the night before because if Tooru was there, he probably said some really embarrassing things.

"Iwa-chan, you're awake! I thought you were going to sleep until Christmas." Tooru says brightly, and Hajime curses from within the bathroom, hands accidentally jerking and sending piss flying everywhere.

Hajime quickly gets toilet paper to clean up the mess on the floor, trying to ignore the pounding in his head and on the door.

"Iwaaaaa-chan, why're you taking so looooong?" Tooru whines from the other side of the door.

Hajime stands up to open the door and tells Tooru to shut up and promptly falls right back down, slipping in a puddle of piss that he missed.

Hajime lies on the floor and wonders what, exactly, had possessed him to actually consume obscene amounts of alcohol.

Wait, he remembers that part. Seeing Tooru with a girl, realizing that Tooru could have literally almost any girl he wants.

_ (“Do you know how I feel?”) _

The memory comes back to Hajime, like a half-remembered dream, but the words are said in Tooru’s voice, defeated and pleading and pained. Something is wrong.  

But then his hangover kicks in again and warns him that he better get his head off the hard floor if he doesn't want to die in the next five minutes.

He doesn't think he'll even be able to look at a shot glass without feeling queasy for the rest of his life.

_ (Tooru's smirking down at him. "Wow, you really are drunk.") _

Hajime tries to remember what happened the night before, because he  _ definitely _ forgot something, something  _ important _ ...

He remembers little bits and pieces, of vomiting violently, being... carried? Talking about living on stars...

_ (I won't lose you, ever.) _

"Iwa-chan!" Tooru shouts. "Did you fall down the toilet bowl, is that why you’re taking so long?"

"Years ago!" Hajime yells back. "Doomed to spend the rest of my days dealing with pieces of shit like you."

When Hajime has showered and brushed his teeth, he feels almost ready enough to start the day, though it's already noon.

When Hajime walks into the kitchen and sees Tooru standing by the stove, he instantly trashes his previous assessment and decides that he is not ready for this, at all.

"What are you doing." Hajime says, rubbing at his temples. Maybe if he squeezes hard enough his head will explode so he won't have to deal with this shit.

"Iwa-chan!" Tooru chirps, brandishing a spatula and looking ridiculously cute in the neon green apron wrapped around his middle. "I made lunch!"

"No, you probably made a particularly potent poison." Hajime replies, and inches forward warily to peek at the pan.

Inside, a thick curry is simmering gently, and from what Hajime can see, the pieces of vegetable are unevenly cut, and some parts of the curry look lumpy and thick.

"Did you... put cucumber. In curry." Hajime deadpans.

"We had no more vegetables! And you're always going on about how vegetables are good for you blah blah blah."

Despite himself, putting cucumber in curry is such a  _ Tooru _ thing to do that Hajime snorts, feeling  _ fond _ . "All right, let's get this over and done with. At least if I die now, I won’t have to deal with this shitty hangover."

"I thought you were trying to give yourself alcohol poisoning, what with how much you were drinking yesterday." Tooru replies, and Hajime moves to scoop rice into bowls.

"Looking at your face makes me regret not having drank more."

"Mean!" Tooru pouts at him. "Sober Iwa-chan is so much meaner than drunk Iwa-chan!"

Hajime scowls.

"Do you not remember?" Tooru smirks, coming to sit right next to Hajime so that their legs end up overlapping even though there's more than enough space on the couch. "You said the sweetest things!"

"Oh my god."

"I said that I wanted to live on the north star, so you said that you'd live there with me!" Tooru grins happily. "Isn't that just the sweetest thing ever."

"Most  _ embarrassing _ thing ever." Hajime mutters.

"Should we buy the north star?" Tooru asks suddenly, and Hajime groans.

“You can’t  _ buy _ a star.” Hajime stresses, because he feels he’s making a very relevant point.

“Of  _ course _ you can, Iwa-chan, I’ve researched, obviously, - “

“ _ Obviously.”  _ Hajime mutters.

“- and apparently it’s only around 5000 yen!” Tooru exclaims, and then he looks at Hajime right in the eye, like he’s really serious and actually making a reasonable proposal. “We should totally buy it.”

"Even if we can't actually go and live on the star, we could kind of own it, our own little place in the universe, isn't that the coolest thing ever?!" Tooru says, eyes alight, and he's so excited by the idea that he's jabbing his chopsticks in Hajime's face.

(Hajime can already see the stars in Tooru’s eyes whenever he’s happy, because the way his eyes sparkle, it must hold a whole sky of constellations.)

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

"You mean, spend money that we otherwise might have saved to get a fake certificate from a dubious website proclaiming that you own a piece of rock in the sky that you will probably never visit anyway?" Hajime asks, voice rising, not sure if he’s questioning Tooru’s intent or his sanity. Probably both.

Tooru beams at him, seemingly delighted that Hajime caught on to his idea so quickly. "That's right!"

_"No, oh my god, why would you even - "_

"Iwa-chan, you promised you'd live there with me!" Tooru scowls, bottom lip pushed out into a pout. 

Tooru has long since mastered the art of puppy dog eyes, and Hajime would like to say that he, too, has long since mastered the art of ignoring Tooru's puppy dog eyes, but the sad truth is that Hajime is inherently weak to that those eyes because he is completely whipped for Tooru and all his various expressions.

"No." Hajime says again weakly, like he can find resolve in the word even when it's soft and fading fast.

Tooru senses victory and scoots closer, tugging at Hajime's shirt sleeve pleadingly.

"Do you really think it's worth it to spend all that money for a fake certificate?" Hajime snaps out at last.

Tooru thinks it over, and then sighs.

"Probably not, huh?" Tooru says wistfully. "But it would be something nice to hang on our wall, since you promised to live there with me and all."

"I promised to live here with you, too." Hajime feels the need to point out, because why in the world is Tooru obsessing over some stupid rock in the sky?

"Yeah, I guess." Tooru says, looking slightly put out. “But you weren’t half as romantic when you suggested moving in together. Iwa-chan is such a brute. Asking to sleep together before we even got _married!_ ” 

“ _We are not even sleeping together – “_

“Iwa-chan, when you propose,” Tooru cuts across Hajime’s protests, gaze unwavering and intense, so completely serious that Hajime falls silent. “I want a romantic proposal! Like the stuff from trashy romance novels. With a long confession about how much you love me so that I will be properly convinced! Otherwise I might have to fail you for lack of effort. My standards are very high, you know.”

Hajime dutifully notes this piece of information down and files it away for future reference.

(He might have to inform Tooru’s potential spouse of this, next time. Even if it kills him inside, Hajime will do whatever it takes to make sure Tooru gets the romantic proposal he wants, to make sure he’s happy.)

“As if anyone would want to be burdened by you for the rest of their lives.” Hajime snorts, ignoring the sheer hypocrisy of his statement and covering it up with a faked grimace. 

Tooru “tsk”s a little, scrunching up his nose in offense and peering down at Hajime with his best judgy look, the look which Hanamaki and Matsukawa previously dubbed “the _hoe_ look”. 

Hajime blames his hangover because he instinctively leans forward to kiss the frown off Tooru’s mouth before his brain can even register his actions.

Hajime has a dick and a brain, but when it comes to Tooru, it definitely ain’t his brain that controls what he does.

Tooru huffs out a surprised laugh that Hajime tastes before he pulls back quickly, flustered and flushed.

Tooru grins, smirking over at Hajime. "Hey, want to know what other sweet stuff you said? Iwa-chan, you’re the most talkative and sentimental drunk ever."

Hajime pokes dubiously at the rice with his spoon and decides that a hopefully quick death from food poisoning would surely be less painful than listening to Tooru talk.

The curry is... horrible.

Hajime grimaces and almost chokes, gulping the mouthful down as quickly as he can. It's way too salty, and extremely spicy, leaving his tongue burning and eyes watering. 

"My life is flashing before my eyes." Hajime gasps out, and then dashes to the toilet to heave because he really should not have tried to poison himself on an empty stomach.

"Iwa-chan! Are you okay? Do you need an ambulance? Are you going to die?" Tooru fires question after question, holding Hajime as he dry heaves into the toilet bowl. "Was it really that bad?" 

Tooru's arm is over his shoulders and one hand is rubbing soothing circles into Hajime's back.

“No, idiot, put your phone away, I’m not going to die…” Hajime trails off. He suddenly flashes back to the night before, when he threw up by the roadside. But why had he thrown up? He had a revelation, something that made him so nauseous...

_("You think I don't feel the same way? Dumbykawa.)_

Oh. 

Hajime's memory comes flooding back at him, hitting him with the force of a bullet train and leaving him reeling from the impact.

The urge to confess is at the tip of his tongue, but he bites it back. _Romantic proposal, huh?_

"Sorry." Tooru is saying. "I didn't think it would be that bad."

His face is red and so utterly crestfallen, eyes fixed on the floor and chewing on his bottom lip. Hajime reaches out and tugs his lip away from his teeth gently. 

"Hey." 

Tooru sits back on his heels, shame pooling at the corner of his eyes. 

Hajime takes a moment to look at Tooru, really look at him properly with the new knowledge of Tooru's feelings.

(Not that Hajime's 100% sure Tooru really likes him back, but he's almost 90% sure. Okay, maybe nearing 85%. But Hajime’s confident that he can read Tooru, that he _knows_ Tooru.)

Tooru's hair is a rumpled mess, but it still manages to look artfully tousled, grown long and falling into his eyes. He's beautiful.

"I wanted to have a nice meal waiting for you when you woke up." Tooru admits self-deprecatingly, shoulders rising in a helpless shrug. "Guess I couldn't even do that."

"Don't do that." Hajime scowls, scooting closer to wrap his arms around Tooru and pull him into his lap. "You'll improve with practice, dumbass. I expect better next time."

Tooru breathes out a surprised laugh, and Hajime _cannot take this anymore._

He stands up abruptly and rinses his mouth, starting to brush his teeth violently.

"Iwa… chan? What are you doing?" Tooru asks, watching him warily.

Hajime rinses his mouth for the final time, and then crowds Tooru into the bathroom wall, bracing both hands on either side of his face so Tooru is caged in.

"I'm making good on something you promised me last night." Hajime grins, slow and predatory, letting it stretch across his whole face when Tooru blushes. "Wanna find out how clean my mouth is?"

"You say the sexiest things sometimes, Iwa-chan." Tooru murmurs, then pulls Hajime in close to kiss him.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Hajime meets Hanamaki and Matsukawa the next day without telling Tooru. That is, he lied to Tooru about why he was going out for dinner, coming up with some bullshit excuse about meeting classmates to discuss a project.

If Tooru knew, he’d definitely want to come along, and this is a conversation that Tooru _cannot_ know about.

Hajime feels pretty grateful that the two of them are willing to meet him on a weekday night on such short notice, since he only texted them a few hours ago. It’s rushed, but he _really_ needs confirmation and the two of them are the ones who’ll most likely be able to give him an answer.

"Hey, thanks for coming." Hajime says, sliding into the seat next to Hanamaki in a small ramen shop.

"Okay, what's up?" Matsukawa says immediately. "You never send us SOS texts."

“Did you get someone pregnant?” Hanamaki asks.

“Kill somebody? And now you need help burying the body?”

“Is it Oikawa?”

“And here I thought you were learning to control your homicidal tendencies.” Matsukawa shakes his head in mock disappointment, lifting up his steaming cup of tea to hide a grin.

“Keep talking and I’ll prove you _very personally_ otherwise.” Hajime grinds out, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans and startling himself with the realization that he’s _nervous._

Hajime takes a deep breath, holds it in for a moment as if it fortifies his resolve with the illusion of being full, and then lets it out explosively.

Well, there’s no point in hiding it.

"I'm in love with Oikawa."

Matsukawa sprays a mouthful of green tea straight into Hajime's face while Hanamaki drops his spoon and his jaw.

"What the _hell_?" Hanamaki demands as Matsukawa and Hajime deplete the napkin stash to wipe saliva and tea off various surfaces, Hajime shooting Matsukawa death glares all the while.

“Oh my god.” Matsukawa says, barking out a harsh laugh. “Oh my _god_.”

“Oh my god.” Hanamaki echoes. “ _God.”_

"I need you to tell me honestly." Hajime says, entirely serious, hands curling in fists on his lap. "Does Oikawa love me?"

There’s a pregnant pause, which gives birth to thousands of little baby pauses, which in turn all become pregnant again, and so on.

Hajime feels like he dies in every single one of the little grandbaby pauses.

Matsukawa clicks his tongue, but his eyes are guarded, wary. "Anyone with eyes can tell Oikawa loves you."

"Probably even some without eyes." Hanamaki adds, both of them dancing around the question.

"Wait, let me rephrase that." Hajime says, licking his lips, incredibly twitchy all of a sudden. "Is Oikawa in love with me?"

Hanamaki and Matsukawa stare at him, then turn to look at each other, and don't reply.

Hajime's stomach drops to his feet along with his crumbling hopes. 

“Do you think he is?” Hanamaki asks, still evading giving an answer, watching him closely.

“I sure fucking hope so.” Hajime replies. “But yes. I do. I _think_. That’s why I’m _asking_ you.”

“We’d be breaking the number one bro code if we told you.” Matsukawa says. “Why should we?”

"Please. Tell me." Hajime says hoarsely. " _I need to know."_

"One question." Hanamaki lifts a finger. "What if he is?"

"Then I'm going to confess." Hajime replies immediately, because that is the one part that Hajime knows for sure. They have so much lost time to make up for, and there really isn't a point in sitting around any longer. “I will spend the rest of my life keeping him happy.”

"Thank fucking god." Matsukawa mutters, and then stares Hajime straight in the eye. "He's in love with you."

"God." Hanamaki says explosively, the past three years of pent up angst come bursting out all at once and Hajime can almost taste the salt in Hanamaki’s voice. "He's been in love with you for like, his whole fucking life, you know? He's all over you all the time, but you never once showed any sign of being the slightest bit interested, and we all thought that surely you couldn't be _that_ dense, so it was only logical that you didn't like him back in _that_ way and was just ignoring his efforts because you didn’t want hurt his feelings by rejecting him outright."

"For... his whole life?" Hajime echoes, disbelief turning his voice thin and trailing upwards in incredulity.

"That's what he told us, anyway." Matsukawa says. "I can't imagine what it's been like for him. I’ve always been half-afraid he'd pine away."

"For years." Hajime repeats, still dazed. "And I never even suspected."

And then, tentatively – “But are you _sure_ he’s in love with me?”

It’s hard to wrap his head around the fact that Tooru would be _in love_ , with _him._ Out of everyone Tooru could have fallen in love with, out of all his fangirls throwing themselves at him. 

Hajime suddenly wonders if he’ll be holding Tooru back, from that wide world of possibilities that welcomes Oikawa Tooru with open arms, eligible and appealing individuals far wealthier, far _better_ than Hajime could ever hope to be.

“I am one thousand fucking percent sure.” Hanamaki says, dead serious. “I have never been surer of anything else in my life.” 

Then he glances over and Matsukawa and his expression melts into something doe-eyed and mushy. “Except for being sure that I’m in love with Issei. That, I’m one thousand and _one_ percent sure.” 

“Aww, stop it, you.” Matsukawa says, bringing a hand to fan at his face, completely expressionless. “You’re going to make me blush." 

“No, but seriously. He can be… dramatic. You know.” Hajime says, cutting in, mouth going dry at the very thought. “Being attracted and being in love is different. Honestly, I really don’t think he’d be in love with _me._ ” 

“Hajime.” Matsukawa says, and Hajime starts at the use of his first name. “You are doubting yourself. I can _feel_ you doubting yourself. And you need to _stop_ it, right now, or so help me god, I will make you suffer for the rest of your life.”

Hajime gulps, and tries not to doubt himself.

“I didn’t think you’d need convincing, because Oikawa is so obvious, but we have all clearly underestimated your denseness.” Hanamaki speaks up, rubbing at his temples. “We were skeptical, at first, when he told us he loved you back in first year. We thought it was a prank, or just a little crush, because he seemed like the type who’d crush easy and forget fast.”

“But it became real clear, real fast, that he really loved you. Not because he was always engaging in lowkey PDA with you – which he totally was, all the damn time – but because… He’d get really sad, sometimes, you know? Kind of blank, kind of quiet.” Matsukawa continues quietly. “But then you’d come along and yell at him or some shit and he’d brighten right back up. He’s head over heels, and you’d be plain cruel to even think otherwise.”

“And I don’t know what the fuck is going on between you two, but right now, you have to _do_ something about it.” Hanamaki says.

Hajime shudders out a breath in relief and guilt, nodding out his agreement.  

“And make sure we’re there when you confess! We deserve VIP seats.” Matsukawa drawls, breaking the serious atmosphere.

“Yeah, we have long term commitment in this relationship.” Hanamaki adds. “We’ve put up with three years of shit from your significant other, so you owe us big time.”

“It’s sort of like the _finally_ getting to the ending of a particularly long, dragged out shoujo manga I’ve been following for three years.” Matsukawa muses. “But I’ve always liked happy endings. Preferably ones where I get to watch the action live.” 

“Got it.” Hajime nods. “I’ll make sure you’re there. So that if I try to chicken out, you guys can knock some sense into me.”

“ _Will_ you chicken out?” Hanamaki asks bluntly.

Hajime thinks it over, and is pleased to find that he can answer honestly. “Probably not.”

Matsukawa grins and raises his fist for a fist bump. “Text us the details. We’ll be there.”

Hajime nods, tapping their fists together.

“Oh, and please never tell Oikawa we told you.” Hanamaki says. “We swore that we wouldn’t. And he would totally kill us in cold blood if he knew, because you knowing was like his greatest fear or something. That stupid idiot absolutely _refused_ to confess to you.”

“He just wanted to keep you close.” Matsukawa murmurs.

Matsukawa reaches over the table to thump Hajime on the shoulder. "Well, you know what's the most important thing to do now, right?" 

Hajime stares at him, and Matsukawa grins.

"Make it up to him, and fucking confess already."

 


	14. Chapter 14

Hajime is walking back from the ramen shop, his mind a whirlwind of half-formed thoughts and unfinished plans.

There’s only one thing that he knows for certain right now – _he needs to propose._

A thought strikes him suddenly, and he halts abruptly. He needs something, first. He turns and traces his steps hurriedly, stopping outside a plain building, something that he wouldn’t have noticed at all if not for the neon letters that spells out “SILVERSMITH”. 

He checks to make sure he has his credit card and takes a deep breath, letting his eyes slide closed. 

This is it. Walking into that shop will cement his decision forever. 

_(…forever?)_

_Forever_ has a nice… _ring_ to it, and Hajime already knows what design he wants for the ring.

Custom made rings take around a month, but Hajime figures that with a little extra persuasion in the form of monetary compensation, the ring could be ready in two weeks.

Hajime opens his eyes, and pushes the door open to walk into the shop, steps sure and confident, towards the future he promised Tooru and plans to make good on, barely a few months ago.

_(We’ll get there someday.)_

 

~-~

 

When Hajime gets home, it's around eleven, which is still pretty early for a school night. He shrugs off his coat and kicks off his shoes, calling out a “ _tadaima”_ and frowns at the lack of reply, wandering down the hallway and into the bedroom.

Tooru is curled up in bed, computer on his lap and headphones plugged in, looking up when Hajime walks in. 

In the split second before Tooru opens his mouth, Hajime already knows something is wrong simply by the way Tooru looks at him, cold and frosty, like there's a net separating them and they're on different teams, standing on opposite sides of the court. 

_(Hajime's spiked across more than his fair share of nets, though.)_

"Did you have a good meeting with your group mates?" Tooru asks, all sugary sweet, and Hajime thinks _well shit_ , because Tooru is using his _I-know-you-lied_ voice and his eyes have that _I-am-going-to-make-you-suffer_ glint. 

It’s just the very _slightest_ bit hot, because Tooru is all sorts of attractive and amazing, even when he’s mad, perhaps especially when he’s mad. Hajime is so whipped. He’s also probably going to die. 

There's no way out of it, and Hajime would rather not dig his grave any deeper. "Actually, I didn't meet up with my group mates."

“That would be hard, seeing as I met Murata-kun and Kojima-kun in the shopping mall, and they were _most surprised_ when I mentioned a group meeting.” 

Hajime scowls and curses Murphy’s law, because _of course_ the one time Tooru actually goes out to eat dinner he would meet Hajime’s group mates. _Of course_.

"Then where did you go?" Tooru asks, still refusing to drop the pretense of neutrality, hides his anger behind carefully crafted smiles and lilting tones. Trying not to overact, pretending he doesn’t care – because that’s just who Tooru is, him and his stubborn, stubborn pride. 

Hajime flounders internally. He can't tell Tooru that he met Hanamaki and Matsukawa – that would just lead to too many questions he can't answer just yet. 

"I was out with a friend." Hajime offers lamely, wincing at his pathetic excuse.

"But why did you have to lie to me?" Tooru asks, and Hajime stares him right in the eye, declaring in shifting shoulders and lifted chins, that he won’t be telling Tooru, all apologetic yet firm. 

Tooru's face twists in confusion and hurt before it clears suddenly. "Did you go out with Sasaki?"

Hajime doesn't even know why Tooru would think he'd go out with Reina and then _lie_ about it, but maybe if he says yes Tooru will lay off him.

He must've spent too long thinking because Tooru takes his silence as confirmation, slamming his laptop closed and sliding out of bed.

"Iwa-chan, you don’t have to _lie_ to me. You can _tell_ me these things."

Even though Tooru tries to mask the hurt in his voice, it’s as still as sharp and clear as broken glass, and Hajime can see right through his feigned anger, the rapid flutter of eyelids to stave off overflowing emotion.

Tooru brushes past him to walk out of the bedroom, and a glimpse of his face reveals that he's more defeated than anything else, a bitter acceptance of two entities drifting immutably far apart.

Hajime was prepared for shouting, for yelling and heck, even full out fighting – but this weary resignation coupled with something impossibly sad – it pulls at Hajime’s heartstrings something fierce, and he’s so tempted to confess right at that moment, just so that Tooru won’t have to hurt any longer than absolutely necessary.

But he resists, remembering grand demands of _“romantic proposals”_ , and instead whips around to grasp Tooru's wrist, reminiscent of the time so many days ago after their failed kiss at the tree when Tooru had been hurting, and in hurting tried to leave.

 _(Don't leave.)_  

"I'm sorry." Hajime says, _for all the times you've hurt._

"Don't be mad." He whispers, and _oh_ , how the tables have turned, the familiar words in his ears foreign on his tongue.

Tooru laughs, but it is more a crumpling of shoulders to shake with what might have just as easily been sobs. He turns around halfway as some sort of compromise to meet Hajime's eyes, and again, Hajime is struck by how defeated he looks.

"Iwa-chan, why would I be mad?" Tooru asks him, tilting his chin up even as his body curls inwards. Blatant contradictions.

"I'm not _mad_." Tooru says, voice going all heavy at the word “ _mad”_ , as if there’s a hundred thousand other emotions he might be feeling right now but _mad_ doesn’t happen to be one of them.

(Because he’s not _angry_ that Hajime would choose someone over him.)

"C'mon." Hajime tugs on his wrist, pulling him into the room. "Stay."

Tooru doesn't move, however, and he stares at Hajime intensely, distantly, like he's taking one last aching look, trying desperately to imprint Hajime’s face in his mind, trying to hold on to the memory and trying to let go.

"Hajime." Tooru says seriously, decisive and strong even when his smile is starting to crumble a little at the corners. "I don't think we should."

Tooru rips his hand away and tries for some semblance of a smile, turning away to stride out of the room before Hajime can see if he’s succeeded. "It'll be easier for both of us this way."

Hajime stays rooted to the spot, watching as Tooru slams the door of the guest bedroom closed, the first time that door has been closed since they moved in. 

"Since when have I ever chosen _easy_?!” Hajime shouts at the closed door, the sight of a door in his face foreign and frustrating, when his whole life has been a series of open doors and open arms, two houses merging into home. 

“I’ve only wanted _you_.” Hajime whispers, offering up the confession in a sigh, only heard by the smiling, frozen faces of all the _Tooru_ s and _Hajime_ s over the years. 

And now he’s locked out, the gulf of empty space separating them wider than words can reach. 

 _But not for long_ , Hajime swears to himself. _Not for long_.

 


	15. Chapter 15

When Hajime wakes up, it does not come as a surprise that the apartment is cold and empty, no warm body wrapped around him and bony extremity in his face, or drool (the existence of which later would have been vehemently denied) leaking from the corners of a slack mouth. The tiny bathroom has never seemed bigger, too silent without unabashedly loud godawful renditions of the newest pop song from the shower. 

As awful as those songs might be, as cheesy and lame the lyrics usually are, Tooru’s singing voice isn’t even half-bad because the idiot is unfairly good at just about everything, and Hajime secretly likes that Tooru is open enough to sing loud and off-key around him, likes the constant reminders of Tooru’s trust.

Hajime spits and stares at the toothpaste froth vanish down the sink in a whirlpool of water, thinking about the days and months and years they have left together – if they’ll have any at all - a whirlpool of disappearing time. 

Hajime sighs and gets ready for school, noting that Tooru’s textbooks and pencil case and shoes are all gone, along with their shared bag which Hajime isn’t even sure he still has sharing rights to so he grabs another one.

Tooru is running away, from himself, from Hajime, and damned if Hajime was going to let him get away. 

Now that Tooru’s not here, brightening up the room with his blinding presence (because when Tooru’s around, Hajime hardly has eyes for anything else), Hajime starts to notice all the flaws of the apartment he’s been so blindly calling _home_ , the cracked floorboards and cramped rooms, creaky doors and faulty taps. 

The silence is throbbing loud in his ears, almost unbearable, and Hajime glares at the egg as it cooks, because he bet that idiot didn’t eat any breakfast before leaving. Even when they fight, Hajime can’t stop thinking about him, can’t stop worrying.

Hajime leaves before the empty silences and unfulfilled spaces are able to leech away all the traces of _home_ , caging Hajime in within the cramped walls of an echoing, empty house. 

It’s just his luck that lab is the first thing in the morning, and since Hajime is running late he has no time to find Tooru.

“Did you have a fight with Oikawa?” Reina asks him knowingly when he arrives, out of breath and pissed off, nose wrinkling at the sharp odor of the lab as he gasps out apologies to the professor.

Hajime starts guiltily and wonders if all females have some sort of telepathic powers or if he’s just really obvious.

Murata and Kojima give him _the look_ , the _exact_ same one that Matsukawa and Hanamaki has been giving him for _years_ , and Hajime knows it’s the latter. 

The professor claps his hands and announces that they have fifteen minutes of discussion time with their groupmates before practical actually begins, so the four of them crowd around the bench to continue their whispered conversation, Hajime being an unwilling participant in the face of the impeding interrogation.  

“You guys came to school _separately.”_ Murata says, like the sun rose in the west or Hajime suddenly lost half of his whole. “Oh, and you look pissed off.” 

“You literally told me yesterday that I look pissed off almost all the time.” Hajime mutters.

“You look different when Oikawa’s not with you.” Reina says slowly. “More grumpy. Kind of angry looking.”

“I’m always angry looking.” Hajime mumbles, then rolls his eyes and gives up when he’s talked right over. Again.

“Kind of… sad?” Kojima’s face screws up in thought, searching for the right word. “Oh! I know! You look _lost_!”

Reina and Murata give “ _mm”_ s and “ _ahh_ ”s of agreement, shooting Hajime suggestive looks which he thinks are _completely_ unnecessary, although not too far off the mark.  

 _(Has he always been so obvious?)_  

“Oh my god.” Hajime groans, dragging a hand over his face. “Okay. Wait. If I told you I liked someone, who would you think it is?”

“Oikawa.” Is the immediate reply, coming with snorts and eye-rolls that all but proclaim “ _duh”._

“Please say you’re going to tell him.” Reina says, looking almost agonized.

“You haven’t told him yet?” Kojima exclaims, looking aghast.

“Why does _literally everyone_ _else_ know,” Hajime forces out. “but _him_?”

“The two of you are _all over each other, all the time_.” Kojima says, faint disgust lacing his words, but overlaid with exasperated amusement. “You act more like an old married couple than anything else.” 

“ _Well_.” Reina cuts in. “Maybe because you get drunk at parties and try to kiss girls, which, trust me, isn’t exactly the most obvious way of showing that you have a ginormous gay crush on him.” 

Hajime flushes, guilt sparking back to life when he remembers the party and he babbles. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I really didn’t mean to lead you on or anything, I just – I don’t know. I mean –“ 

Reina bursts out laughing, and Hajime flushes even redder.

“Just kidding!” Reina says, offering him a genuine smile. “Don’t worry. I’m not mad or anything. And I wholeheartedly support your whatever gay relationships you may choose to have, even if your taste seems to be lacking.”

“ _I’m_ going to be mad if you don’t tell him soon.” Murata starts, and then stops abruptly, struck by a sudden thought. “He likes you back, right?”

Hajime pauses, fiddling idly with his pen. “I _think_ he does. I hope.”

Reina rolls her eyes, again, and huffs out a breath through her nose. “I’ve known the guy for like, a few weeks, and _believe me,_ he _does_.”  

“Wait, wait, wait.” Kojima cuts in, waving his hands in the air. “So you like him, and he likes you, but he doesn’t know you like him?”

“Sounds about right.”  

“Then why the heck haven’t you confessed?” Kojima bursts out, slamming his hand down on the lab table. “Why are you sitting  around doing nothing?" 

“Shh!” Murata hisses, slapping Kojima on the shoulder and peering around captiously, but luckily the lab is pretty noisy with students discussing among themselves so his outburst goes unnoticed.

“I’m going to! I only realized he liked me a few days ago!” Hajime says defensively. “And I’ve already bought a ring and everything!”

His bench mates look at him, impressed. Murata tries to wolf whistle softly, and it comes out more as a wheeze than anything.

“I don’t know where I should propose, though. Or how. Or when.” Hajime says, and then once the verbal diarrhea has started, he can’t stop. “Like, what should I do? How should I say it? In public or in private? What if it’s too cliché?”

“What does Oikawa like?” Reina cuts him off, taking the lead as the one with probably the most experience. 

“Volleyball.” Hajime responds immediately, and hurries to elaborate when she gives him a flat look. “Winning. Milk bread. Aliens. Outer space. Romantic proposals.”

“Oh!” Reina exclaims suddenly, looking excited. “I know! How about a planetarium? 

Hajime thinks about it, and he nods. Proposing in a dimly lit room with luminescent planets isn’t the worst place, and isn’t overly cliché since most people don’t have a raging passion for extraterrestrial life, unfairly attractive and bratty brunettes aside. 

“According to one of my friends there’s gonna be new amusement park opening up somewhere in Miyagi, and apparently there’s going to be a planetarium too.” Reina says. 

It sounds almost too good to be true. Miyagi is his hometown, and what better place to propose than the place they lived together, grew up together?

“Could you text me the details?” Hajime asks, growing excited as Reina agrees. Proposal or not, Tooru would love to go to a planetarium.

“Students, your discussion time is over! Please come to the front to collect your materials.” The professor calls out, and the three boys curse viciously under their breath, scrambling to flip open textbooks and take out notes, lagging behind the rest of the class because they spent too much time talking about _romance_. 

Stupid love life issues. Stupid Tooru.

Hajime flips the pages of his textbook with more force than necessary, crumpling some pages, and yet can’t help the small smile that tugs at the edges of his mouth. 

He can’t wait for break.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for late update!! and i generally prefer not to include OCs but..... eH i'll probably sub in a haikyuu character instead later


	16. Chapter 16

The cafeteria isn’t the most amazing place if one is looking for really high-quality food, but it’s the cheapest and most convenient place so it’s where broke sleep-deprived over-caffeinated college students go for a quick bite every day.

The coffee is shit, though. It tastes like rancid piss that has soured and turned a murky black from pure foulness.

“Over there!” Kojima hisses, pointing to one of the long tables where Tooru is seated with a bunch of people Hajime doesn’t recognize, and Hajime immediately zeros in on the fact that there are more girls than guys in that group before he remembers that Tooru is _bi_ which is _so much worse_.

“Thanks,” Hajime says distantly to his bench mates. “I gotta go.” 

“Go get ‘im!” Reina cheers under her breath, giggling.

Hajime marches over without a second thought and stops behind Tooru, feeling self-conscious when Tooru’s friends look up at him curiously.

“Hi, sorry, but I’ll be borrowing Oikawa for a while,” Hajime says with an awkward smile, and then grabs Oikawa’s arm to haul him to his feet.

“Iwa-chan, I’m kind of in the middle of something – “ Tooru starts to say, plastic smile fixed firmly in place but it doesn’t take a genius to tell that he’s annoyed.

“Bye!” Hajime cuts across him, giving his friends a quick wave.

“He’s all yours.” One of them says slyly, sneaking Tooru a suggestive look, leaving Hajime with a head full of unanswered questions.

_(What did Tooru tell his friends about Hajime? – That he’s in love with Hajime?)_

“See you later, Tooru-kun~” One of the girls coo, and Hajime quickly yanks Tooru away before he can give an equally sappy response. 

Tooru stays silent as Hajime drags him out of the cafeteria and down several hallways until he finds an empty classroom, slamming the door shut behind them. 

Hajime almost snorts, thinking of the last time they were in an empty classroom together.

Tooru has been silent the whole way, but it’s an aloof, icy silence, the kind of silence that means Tooru is really quite pissed and is giving Hajime the Cold Treatment, exuding an air of superiority so it’ll protect him from getting even more hurt.

Hajime backs Tooru into the wall, not quite touching but still close enough to feel the other’s body heat radiating from his skin.  

“Shittykawa.” Hajime says lowly, not quite sure how to start, feeling a vein in his temple throbbing with a familiar rage whenever Tooru acts all distant and cold.

“Don’t you fucking avoid me.” He says at last, and while it doesn’t make for the most diplomatic starting, it’s basically what Hajime has been meaning to say all morning. “You’re too old to be acting this immature.” 

_(Don’t run away from me.)_

Hajime’s hands reach out to rest gently on Tooru’s hips, just sitting there, grounding the both of them with its tentative treaty.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” Hajime says then, implying a _that you’re trying to run_ but meaning _that you’re in love with me, just like I’m in love with you._

Hajime pulls Tooru a little closer, feeling a little silly that he has to tiptoe the slightest bit to kiss Tooru, who stands tall and refuses to be of any help.

Hajime kisses Tooru softly, chastely, their noses bumping and teeth clacking before Hajime tilts his head to make the angle less awkward. He imagines all of his love and emotions and unsaid confessions pouring from his mouth into Tooru’s, and wills him to _understand_ , even though he doesn’t actually think osmosis works that way, mouth-to-mouth of otherwise.

Hajime finds that he’ll never, ever grow tired to kissing Tooru because each kiss is still a burst of sensation and sparking affection, melting and melding in Tooru like they’re meant to be one, even when half of their whole is trying to tear away.

Three seconds, four seconds of Hajime pressing his lips to Tooru’s before Tooru breaks, starts to kiss Hajime with heated passion and a crushing need, one hand curling around his back and the other grabbing a fistful of Hajime’s hair and _pulling_ , which _really_ shouldn’t be as much of a turn on as it is.

(Unless Hajime turns out to be a masochist, which is starting to seem more and more likely with every passing second he spends with Tooru, Dickwad Extraordinaire.)

When they separate, a string of saliva still connects their mouths like in some kinky yaoi magazine except it’s not half as cool in real life when the saliva string breaks and stains Hajime’s favorite shirt. Hajime scowls, and Tooru laughs, shakily, swiping a hand across his kiss-bruised lips.

“Iwa-chan.” He whispers brokenly, eyes like two dark pools of despair, face scrunched up in hurt. “You can’t do this to me.” 

Tooru knows that he knows now. Hajime has always been able to read Tooru, but he sometimes forgets that it’s a two-way street and Tooru knows him, too.

They’re both breathing heavily, one more ragged and wet than the other, and Hajime waits for Tooru to decide what to do next, tracing lazy circles into Tooru’s back, pressing him close.

“Iwa-chan.” Tooru just calls softly – commands, demands. He says it simply, like the two words alone is enough to convey the request, is enough to contain his desperation.

_(Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan. The call of the king for his knight in shining armor. The call of the captain for his ace. The call of a boy for his best friend. How many times has he been summoned, how many times has he failed to be there?)_

_(None.)_

_Iwa-chan_ , because it’s always been just the two of them, always been together. _Iwa-chan_ , because Hajime will know what’s being asked without it needing to be spoken. _Iwa-chan_ , because Tooru is still shying away from asking questions that might lead to grand destruction, not quite daring to push harder in fear of lines that aren’t meant to be crossed.

Tooru still isn’t _daring_ , because he isn’t willing to _lose_ , not now, not again, not this.  

It breaks Hajime’s heart just the slightest bit, because the worst thing he can think of is for Tooru to be _defeated_ , to be so afraid of losing that he doesn’t dare try to win.

But when Tooru calls him, Hajime will be there, every time, no matter what, without fail. 

“We have a perfect trust, remember?” Hajime says instead, meeting Tooru’s eyes and giving him a soft smile. “Trust in me.” 

“Who’d want a perfect trust with you?” Tooru parrots back Hajime’s words from so long ago, still uncertain, still hovering and flighty and ready to bolt at the slightest sign of falling and failing. 

Hajime just holds Tooru’s gaze, and it’s a novel feeling of empty victory when Tooru’s eyes slide away first, dropping to the ground. 

“By tomorrow,” Tooru demands, on the verge of a whine but too thin and too desperate to be bratty.

Hajime kicks his foot and scowls. “Whenever I feel like it, asshole.”

“That’s not fair,” Tooru says, and it’s definitely a whine now, although it may have been more of a purr because Tooru is playing _dirty_ with that _knee between Hajime’s damn legs_ and his breath is warm on Hajime’s ear and _yup_ Hajime’s brain has officially short-circuited because obviously _bratty_ shouldn’t sound like _sexy_. 

And then Tooru sucks a huge hickey into Hajime’s neck, on the side of his neck where Hajime’s shirt doesn’t cover.

“What the fuck!” Hajime yelps and shoves Tooru away, but the damage is done and the bruise is already purpling, that damn possessive bastard. 

Tooru returns Hajime’s scowl with a cocky smirk, but it quickly melts into a small frown. 

“Anyway, I really got to go,” Tooru says, already turning away, turning his back on Hajime and not waiting for a response. “See you later.” 

Hajime doesn’t reply, not that one is needed, but leans against the wall and watches Tooru hurry away, still running from a truth he’s too scared to believe in and a trust he doesn’t ever want to risk breaking.  

 


	17. Chapter 17

When they stumble into the apartment at 11 o’clock at night, Hajime is tired and sleepy and wants nothing more than to crash into bed and sleep for the next day, and preferably the one after that as well. 

Or he _was_ feeling sleepy, right up until Tooru announces that he is going to take a shower, but he’s _lonely_ and the bathroom is big enough for _two,_ and to save time it would be an _obvious conclusion_ to -

“I’m not showering with you.” Hajime says, trying to meld his face into the sofa cushion.

“Why not?” Tooru whines back, pouting at him in the most endearing way, hands coming to play with the hem of Hajime’s shirt and then forcefully yanking him off the sofa because he’s still lean and muscled even though they don’t play volleyball every day.  

“Don’t you play coy with me.” Hajime says around a yawn. “I know what a shitbag you are underneath that pretty surface.”

“Iwa-chan, did you just call me pretty?!” Tooru shrieks like a fifteen-year-old girl, grabbing Hajime’s shoulders and bringing them nose-to-nose. 

“Pretty ugly, yes.” Hajime says, blushing when he feels Tooru’s breath ghost across his lips. “And I’m still not going to bathe with you, what the hell, have you even seen the size of our bathroom, it’s fucking tiny.”  

“That’s the only thing that’s tiny.” Tooru breathes into Hajime’s ear, and Hajime falls for it, inadvertently glancing at Tooru’s crotch before he can catch himself. Tooru smirks in triumph, his hand on Hajime’s shoulder rubbing across the dark purple bloom of a recently acquired hickey.

“You’re right, I almost forgot how your ego is fucking huge.” Hajime says, trying to conjure up the last vestiges of irritation for a shot at a normal, platonic conversation between platonic friends. “And I literally used to see you buck naked four times a week, asshole, I _know_ how big you are. Or should I say _small_.”

“We never got to finish what we started, remember? Before Makki and Mattsun interrupted.” Tooru says, leaning in even closer. “Iwa-chan, you owe me one.”

“Yeah, one tight slap!” Hajime yells, and proceeds to give it to him right smack in Tooru’s exposed stomach, causing him to bend over double and wheeze in dramatic pain. “Go bathe you asshole do you want to sleep with wet hair and get dandruff?!”

(Hajime feels like a long-suffering mother with a particularly overgrown child who manages to simultaneously piss him off and turn him on like no one else, which is kind of embarrassing and says something about Hajime’s potential kinks, of which he hopes Tooru never, ever finds out about.)

Tooru whines and sticks long fingers down the front of Hajime’s jeans to tug him towards the bathroom - Tooru’s hands pressing warm against his navel is the closest Hajime has ever gotten to getting a handjob - but it quickly devolves into heated making out in the narrow corridor because Hajime has discovered that the best way to distract Tooru is to kiss him, and he’s not afraid to use this newfound knowledge.

And it works, for a while, and the unfortunate side effect is that Hajime is now 110% awake like his boner, which is straining against his jeans and making itself known, 110% aware that there is a very delectable and pretty young man grinding him into the wall, who he just so happens to be in love with so he’s the perfect possible person to bone, right? 

The grinding stops when Tooru leans back, face flushed and panting, and Hajime instinctively bucks his hips forward to try and chase the receding friction, a sudden movement that Tooru catches.

“Wanna find out who’s really the tiny one?” Tooru asks, eyes alight and blistering and burning Hajime with the heat in his gaze, molten desire pooling thick and warm in his stomach.

“Your brain is definitely tiny.” Hajime says, but grips the waistband of Tooru’s skinny jeans tightly and pulls him closer.

Tooru laughs warm and rich, seductively winking at him in a way that makes Hajime want to grab him and either dump him in a trash bin somewhere or onto the nearest available bed. “Don’t worry, I more than make up for it in my _other_ body parts.” 

“Let’s see it, then.” Hajime challenges, almost trembling with excitement, desire throbbing between his legs. 

Tooru pulls back and bares his teeth, eyes wild and Hajime braces himself, preparing for something, he doesn’t know what - but what he was not expecting is for Tooru to run off, just like that, poof, bye.

“What the actual fuck.” Hajime says to the empty corridor, feeling extremely cheated and utterly confused. 

“Oi, fucker -“ Hajime starts to yell, annoyance and humiliation starting to kick in, but Tooru skids back in almost five seconds flat, holding up something in his hand triumphantly.

“What the actual fuck.” Hajime says again, and then groans, sliding down the wall to bury his face in his hands. “Oh my god.”

“Iwa-chan, come oooon!!”

“A fucking ruler?!” Hajime half-shrieks, half-demands. Tooru stands there smirking, like he didn’t just completely massacre the whole fucking mood, like he isn’t the biggest moron on the face of planet earth. 

“How else are we going to measure dick length?” Tooru asks, tilting his head in innocent puzzlement, but yep, Hajime can see his glee at Hajime’s embarrassment all too clearly.

“I thought you were just making up some shit excuse to get me out of my pants.” Hajime says honestly, then instantly regrets it because it makes Tooru sound so desperate and skims too close to the truth.

“That too!” Tooru says brightly, not affected in the least. “But since we’re getting naked, might as well seize the opportunity to see who’s really the bigger man, eh?"

“Fuck you.” Hajime groans, wondering if Tooru is an actual legal adult and if it would be considered a criminal offense to bed someone with a mental age way below the legal limit. 

Tooru shimmies out of his own skinny jeans in about three seconds, and there’s an awkward moment when Tooru turns around and Hajime’s still sitting on the floor because _whoa_ Hajime has never ever had a male genital so close to his face.

He stares, and almost can’t bring himself to regret sitting down.

“Iwa-chan?” Tooru says, a little breathlessly, looking awkward and embarrassed and vulnerable. It looks good on him. Hajime blushes so hard his face feels like a furnace, crimson spreading to his chest. 

“Nope, sorry, but you totally ruined the whole fucking mood and I’m so turned off right now so you can keep your fucking dick right back into your fucking pants - “ Hajime starts to say. 

“Oh yeah?” Tooru interrupts suddenly, sneaking a socked foot out to press very deliberately against Hajime’s crotch, sending a blinding bolt of pain and pleasure exploding between his legs and _oh god what the fuck_ -  

Hajime most definitely squeals and punches Tooru so hard in the thigh that he howls in pain and falls to the ground.

“Iwa-chan! Ow!” Tooru yells.

“What the fuck?!” Hajime yells back.

“I was just proving that you were turned on!” Tooru argues. “You didn’t have to _punch_ me! Brute!”

“You kicked me in the balls!” Hajime clambers forward to grab Tooru’s collar and bring their faces close. “Asshole!”

Tooru leans forward and plops a kiss on Hajime’s nose, grinning maniacally. “ _Your_ asshole.”

“That is the literally the cheesiest thing ever, including that triple cheese pizza we had in second year.” 

“Iwa-chan is just laughtose intolerant.” Tooru quips, then laughs at his own joke, amused enough for the both of them.

Hajime groans, and in slumping against the wall, rediscovers the abandoned ruler, a realization that makes him aware of how hard he is all over again. He holds it up, saying. “Are you really serious though?” 

“Yep!” Tooru chirps, and Hajime reluctant peels off his jeans and boxers, quickly pumping his dick a few times to make sure it’s as hard as possible, because like hell he’ll lose to Tooru.

When he looks up, Tooru is staring at him, eyes intense and dark and full of unbridled lust. Hajime’s hand slows on his dick, flushing red because they might be in love, sure, but watching Tooru watch him masturbate is still _so fucking weird._  

Hajime’s thought processes just about short circuit as this point, because Tooru’s long fingers are wrapping around his dick and holding it to the ruler. He’s not gripping hard at all, but Hajime’s breath splutters and dies out in his chest, as if even breathing would scare him away. He wants so bad to thrust up into that warm hand, but just having it there – it’s enough. Hajime exhales, slinging an arm around Tooru’s shoulders to dispel any lingering awkwardness, to pull them close together again. 

Tooru looks up and smirks, making Hajime’s stomach flop over and die.

“I’m _longer!_ ” Tooru screams, waving the ruler around like a madman. “I ALWAYS KNEW YOU WERE SHORT!!!” 

“I bet you cheated!” Hajime yells, feeling his manly pride crumbling to little itsy bitsy pieces. “Give it here!”

He then proceeds to grab both their dicks and smush them together, ignoring Tooru’s startled yelp and the fission of pleasure that rockets up his spine.

“I’m bigger!” Hajime argues, so caught up in proving his superior masculinity that he doesn’t notice how Tooru’s gone all stiff and silent. “You’re longer, but I’m thicker, see?”

He presses their dicks together to make the size difference more obvious and looks up when Tooru inhales sharply, hands coming to grab Hajime’s arms, not to stop him but to steady himself, back arched and mouth open.

Hajime’s mind blanks when he locks eyes with Tooru, his delicate fluttering eyelashes and dilated pupils, blush riding high on his cheeks. 

“Tooru – “ Hajime starts to say, but Tooru throws himself forward and crashes their lips together in a bruising kiss, eyes closed and face tilted, the kind of kiss that’s more growling and pushing and biting than actually kissing, the kind of kissing that’s unbelievably hot and probably the reason why homo sapiens have yet to invent teleportation since most of them are just sitting around sexing. 

Tooru’s hand comes to wrap around Hajime’s, and then suddenly they’re both grinding into each other and thrusting up into their hands, slick with pre-come and sweat, and oh god, it’s Hajime’s first time getting and giving a handjob, does it even count as a handjob if it’s his own hand?

“Fuck.” Tooru gasps when they finally separate for air, and his voice is all husky and low and so, so full of _want_ that it sends all the blood rushing from Hajime’s head to his dick, in a way that’s not conducive for rational thinking at all. _Fuck_. Hajime takes in the sight of Tooru’s flushed face and burns it into his memory for the next time he wants to jerk off. 

Hajime’s thrusts get even more hurried, faster, and everything is too hot and too dry and the sound of panting and breathy moans fill the narrow corridor, Tooru’s hand so tight and hot around Hajime’s and squeezing their dicks together.

Tooru’s hand suddenly drops to fondle Hajime’s balls and he gasps, hips bucking and knees trembling, white-hot pleasure searing through his veins and making his dick throb even harder.

“Tooru, I’m gonna – I can’t – “ Hajime gasps out, and Tooru kisses him again, viciously, and he takes Hajime’s dick in his hot hand and strokes it firmly, from the base right to the top, his thumb swiping over his slit and Hajime’s world explodes into fragments of sound and color and a burst of searing, intense pleasure.

His head falls onto Tooru’s shoulder and half-hugs him because his knees are buckling under his weight, breathing harshly and shivering slightly 

“Good?” Tooru asks softly, and Hajime nods, trying to recover from the most powerful orgasm in his life. Tooru shifts under him, and Hajime’s attention is drawn to his dick, still hard and flushed and brushing against Haime’s navel.

“You’re not done yet.” Hajime says, and Tooru replies. “Well, Iwa-chan came so quickly, of course I didn’t – _hnng_.”

Hajime pumps Tooru’s dick slowly, watching his face closely for any signs of discomfort and just looking at Tooru’s expression almost makes Hajime hard all over again.

It isn’t long before Tooru is coming, and he’s _gorgeous_ , he’s so fucking pretty in that moment pure pleasure, even if his body tries to curl into itself and he tucks his head down, as if trying to hide his face, keening loudly and making aborted thrusts with his hips as Hajime milks him, little moans and gasps of pleasure slowly dying out as he winds down from his high.

“Well. That escalated quickly,” Tooru remarks, as they slump against the wall but mostly on each other, a loose tangle of limbs and fingers.

“It was good.” Hajime says quietly, kissing the corner of Tooru’s mouth where his lips are tugged up in a smile. “It was my first.”

“Mine too!” Tooru says brightly, clarifying when Hajime raises a skeptical eyebrow. “With a guy, that is.”

“You know what we should really do right now?” Hajime whispers, dragging a finger over Tooru’s bare chest and leaning in close. 

“What?” Tooru whispers back eagerly, grabbing Hajime’s hand to kiss his knuckles, one by one.

“Go and fucking shower!” He yells and stands up, hauling Tooru to his feet, ignoring his cries of “Iwa- _chaaaaaan we were having a moment”,_ and then there’s this moment when Hajime is trying to close the bathroom door but Tooru is pushing from the other side and yelling “there’s cum all over my stomach and this is _all your fault_ so you better let me in!” so Hajime reluctantly lets him in against his better judgement because the toilet is _really_ too fucking small and they waste an hour in the shower, slow and languid and ending with the both of them coming all over again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my first and last smut writing experience!! 
> 
> also, there won't be any updates for the next week because of exams :oo so here's an extra long one now!!! thanks for reading :DD


	18. Chapter 18

Despite Hajime’s sudden and dubious status upgrade from completely-pure-holy-temple-of-untouched-virginity to somewhat-defiled-by-his-own-hand, life goes on peacefully, or as peacefully as life can get when you room with a loud obnoxious asshole whom you just happen to be in love with.

A few weeks of deliberation between snagging coffee breaks and quick naps has finally prompted Hajime to actually start planning for the... proposal. God, it’s unbelievable. He wouldn’t have ever thought that he’d be _proposing_ to someone at the tender age of twenty, let alone his _best friend._  

But now that Hajime actually thinks about it… he realizes he’s never really thought about it very much at all. There was only ever this oddly reassuring knowledge at the back of his mind that Tooru would always be in his life, an immutable, unchangeable fact, like the sky is blue or the grass is green, and boys will one day grow up into men, and that infinities can only ever be found stretched into all the finite seconds they have.   

Hajime hadn’t thought much beyond high school, had always simply assumed they’d go to school together, grow up together, grow old together – and somehow, wives and families and whatnot had never factored into this equation.

~~~~Maybe he’d known all along, and Hajime doesn’t find it overly surprising that he might’ve been in love with Tooru for a whole lot longer than he initially suspected.

And now, he just has to make it official. Hajime sits on the bed and opens his laptop, scowling for a moment before searching for something he never thought he’d ever even consider. 

He scowls even harder and contemplates all his questionable life choices that has led him to this very questionable moment in his life, about to throw 8000 yen down the drain to buy a fucking star. 

His finger hovers uncertainly over the mouse for a moment, and then Tooru’s voice warbles from inside the shower, loud but pretty in tune. 

"Havana oo na na, half of my heart is in havana oh na na~" 

Hajime feels his insides soften and melt into mush like the scowl on his face, lets the goofy grin sit on his face like the love-struck idiot he is. Struck by love, indeed. All lightning bolts and zapping electricity, leaving behind pretty scars that belie the burning pain of every contact.

_“Romantic proposal”_ Tooru had said, and damned if Hajime wasn’t going to give him one. He clicks “Confirm Purchase” with only minimal grimacing and is so absorbed in distorting his face that he doesn’t notice the shower going off or the toilet door opening.

“Iwa-chan~~” Comes a throaty coo from somewhere off his right shoulder, followed by a head pushing his aside to look at the computer screen. “What’re you doing?”

“Gah!” Hajime yells and whips the laptop screen down before Tooru can see the purchase, hugging the device to his chest protectively.

“What were you doing?” Tooru asks him, eyes narrowed, slick brown hair falling in dripping tendrils around his face, the UFO-patterned towel draped around his shoulders not doing a very good job of catching the droplets at all. 

“Nothing.” Hajime says, like every other guilty person caught in the act.

Tooru, like every other person in possession of functioning cognitive abilities, isn’t buying it at all. 

“Then you won’t mind if I see your laptop, right?” Tooru says sweetly, only it comes out more threatening than anything else, trying to yank it out of Hajime’s grasp.

Tooru’s strong, and Hajime’s not about to risk losing this fight and giving the game away, so he curls his body around the computer and does a body roll, pinning Tooru’s hand under his bulk, both of them yelling loudly and somewhat incoherently, Tooru’s screams of “let me see let me see let me see!!” melding into Hajime’s vehement refusals of “noooOO go aWAY you naked aSShoLE!”.

There’s a growing wet spot on the bed under Tooru’s head, and since Hajime actually likes sleeping on dry mattresses which preferably doesn’t house a whole biodiversity of mould, he reluctantly lets Tooru up, keenly aware of how his face must be burning a traitorous red.

Tooru rolls to lie on his stomach, chin resting on Hajime’s thigh, fingers grazing much too far up his leg and eyes cutting to meet Hajime’s in a way that shuts down any rational thought.

Hajime’s hand, that was originally deployed to shove Tooru’s head off his leg, falters and halts as his brain ceases to function outside the confines of the sewers. It comes instead to card through Tooru’s hair in something awfully tender, the way one might touch a new-born puppy – with gentleness, and with awe. 

All Hajime wants to do is to be with this man, for as long as he can, for forever.

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru murmurs, vaguely bordering on something complaining, something soft. “I just combed my hair, it’s a mess now.”

“Like your life.” Hajime mutters.

“At least I have one.” 

“Keep talking and you won’t.” Hajime threatens, without any real heat. 

Tooru’s eyes fall closed and he breathes out hot against Hajime’s leg, pressing a smile into his shorts with a chaste kiss that’s barely one at all.

“You’re making the bed wet.” Hajime breathes out. 

“That’s not the only thing I’m making wet.” Tooru smirks, dragging his hand way too far up Hajime’s thigh, and Hajime flips him over on impulse and pins him down, because _bloody hell yes_ a half-naked Tooru with wandering fingers is more than enough to get anyone wet. 

Hajime’s hand is wrapped around Tooru’s throat – not tightly, but with enough strength that Tooru can’t break out easily if he tried. Tooru tilts his chin up, exposing more of his neck, an act of apparent submission that startles Hajime into relaxing his grip.

Even pinned, Tooru somehow manages to stare Hajime down from below, and Tooru’s eyes are burning into his with a fiery intensity, but - no, definitely not one of submission, but a haughty consent, a look that says _I’m only allowing this because I trust you._  

And beneath that, under all the hammered hardness and brittle barriers, Tooru’s adam’s apple moves under Hajime’s hand as he gulps down, one of his hands circling Hajime’s wrist, his body all tensed up and stiff under Hajime.

And beneath all that, Tooru’s also saying _I trust you, so please don’t hurt me._

“I’m so tempted to just strangle you here and now so that I can get rid of you for life.” Hajime whispers, but drops his hand to poke at Tooru’s cheek. 

“You won’t.” Tooru says, looping his arms around Hajime’s neck to pull him down into his warm embrace, smouldering embers waiting to be reignited, his boner waiting to be awakened. “You love me too much.”

“The way I love this particularly nasty infestation of pesky mosquitoes which has been plaguing me for years and sucking up my blood like a parasite.” Hajime deadpans, letting his hand creep into Tooru’s, fingers curling together loosely. 

“Iwa-chan, you wrong the poor innocent mosquitoes! I mean, with you flaunting all _this_ around…” Tooru sweeps his eyes meaningfully down the length of Hajime’s body. “Who could possibly resist sucking _that_?”

“I need to get a better brand of repellant.” Hajime laments.

“Yeah, because your current one of trying-to-pretend-you-don’t-care isn’t working at all!” Tooru hums, but then he’s gone from goofy to dead serious in less than a second. “Iwa-chan.” 

“Huh?”

“You can’t open all the windows and expect mosquitoes _not_ to fly in.” 

“What?”

“Don’t send them mixed signals all the time, don’t – if you don’t want them, you have to force them out. You can’t just _lure_ them in and sit around complaining and never give a straight answer.”

“Tooru?”

There’s a swirling crescendo of dread rising from his stomach, bitter bile and wary despair, crashing fear that he’s pushed too far too fast, that he doesn’t know to keep pushing, doesn’t know to let go.

“I just – “ Tooru takes a shuddering breath, and Hajime feels the trembling pain from where he’s still splayed out on top. “I know, okay? I know that you don’t really care about our friendship – no, okay so maybe you do, but like, definitely not as much as I do, but I don’t care about that – I mean, of course I do, but my main point is that – “

Tooru stops to breathe, another quavering inhalation that sends aftershocks of pain rippling through Hajime’s chest.

“This – “ Tooru gestures at himself and Hajime, “whatever thing it is we have – our _friendship_ , is too important to me to risk losing. Do you get that? Do you get where I’m coming from?”

Hajime sits up before Tooru can push him off, lets Tooru clamber out of the bed to stand by the door, one foot in and the other stepping out.

“I’m not asking you to – understand, or anything. But I want you to know.”  Tooru says, quietly, head held high and empty hands closing around nothing by his sides. “That I’m not willing to risk this.”

Hajime opens his mouth to say something, anything – but then Tooru’s face twists in fear and he stumbles backwards, and then he’s gone before Hajime can even get a word out through the lump in his throat, leaving behind a house echoing with remembrance and a confession spoken to the empty air.  

 

_“…”_

_“…you idiot. Of course I love you.”_

 


	19. Chapter 19

Hajime tries, rather unsuccessfully, to call Tooru several times, leaving behind various voice messages with the general gist of “are you still alive? Call me back”. He does this mainly labouring under the knowledge born and grown from countless fights that Tooru won’t answer calls when he’s mad, but not calling will only make him madder.

He tries to comfort himself that Tooru definitely isn’t dumb and has _plenty_ of people to run to and _of course_ he isn’t stupid enough to just wander around the city at night wallowing in self-pity because it’s _dark_ and it’s _dangerous_ and god knows what might happen to him…

Hajime’s hand tightens around the small box he just picked up from the silversmith, cradling within its velvet embrace a circled promise of gilded gold. 

_(Be with me forever.)_

The only thing he has left to do is to find Tooru, and propose.

(Or so Hajime tries to tell himself, and then proceeds to attempt to ignore all the other little things that worm their way into his head such as actually confirming if Tooru will even _accept_ his proposal, or getting their parent’s permission, and finding a location and the right time and the right way to word it and just about another thousand million other things that goes into planning a proposal, or a _successful_ one, at least.)  

But almost as if fate, or whatever deity that fancies themselves to be the god of love, is actually on his side for once, his phone rings. 

“Hello?” Hajime answers, navigating his way around the busy streets that suddenly seem to be populated solely by lovey-dovey couples who simply lack the basic ability to keep their hands off their respective partners, alluring as they may be. “Kaa-san?”

“Hajime! Are you still in Tokyo?” Hajime’s mother chirps, sounding vaguely accusatory and overly chipper for this bleak, drab, sunless morning when Hajime has just been dumped by his boyfriend-to-be-but-doesn’t-know-it-yet at home barely nine hours ago

“Yes?” Hajime frowns. “Where else would I be?” 

“Why, home, of course! Why, we were all so surprised when Tooru suddenly came home, but I was even more surprised when you weren’t with him!”

“…what.” Hajime says, intelligently, the same way he displayed his amazingly acute emotional empathy the night before that led directly to his current circumstances. 

“Oh, the two of you had a fight again, didn’t you! You and Tooru are forever going at it, would it kill you to go for more than a month without squabbling?”

“We weren’t _squabbling_.” Hajime protests weakly, because _squabbling_ is for children who quarrel over insignificant things, _squabbling_ is for petty fights that don’t matter much. This isn’t them _squabbling._

“Anyway, since Tooru is home for the weekend, why don’t you come by, too? I haven’t seen you in so long!”

“I haven’t been gone even half a year yet. But yeah, I'll come.” He picks up his pace, breaking into a brisk walk. “But could you not tell him I’m coming back?”

“Why not? I think he would be delighted to see you.”

“Right.” Hajime grumbles. “So delighted he’ll probably lock me out of his room and yell obscenities at me from inside. Because _that_ sure has never happened before.”

“Even if he doesn’t show it, he’ll be glad.” Hajime’s mother says airily. “But you know that just as well as I do.”

“Uh huh.”

“But you probably know that even better than me, though, especially seeing how you both probably got quite intimate since you all are staying together and maybe even engaging in all sorts of wild kinky- “  

“Right!” Hajime cuts in quickly. “I’m going to catch a train now, see you!”

Hajime’s mother laughs. “All right, then I’ll just pretend you’re coming back to visit your old kaa-saan now then, shall I?”

“Yeah, yeah. Bye.”

Hajime ends the call with a shudder and stuffs his phone back into his pocket, fingers brushing against the small box and curling around it protectively. 

He takes a deep breath, and breaks into a run.

Tooru is waiting for him, and Hajime isn’t going to make him wait any longer than he already has.  

 

***

 

“Wait, wait, run this by me one more time.” Matsukawa’s voice crackles into Hajime’s ear, the hard plastic of an oily phone imprinting itself onto Hajime’s skin, much like the way a headache is definitely imprinting itself rather deeply onto Hajime’s skull. “You want us – as in me and Takahiro – to gather the team and meet you at some frikin planetarium outside of Miyagi _tomorrow_ – mind you, you’ve just told me of this _today -_ so that we can stand guard make sure you don’t chicken out of proposing to Oikawa?” 

“I don’t want you there to stop me from chickening out because I’m not _going to_ , Matsukawa, ohmygod, have you ever heard of this thing, it’s called _actually_ being a good friend and providing moral support in my time of need?” Hajime almost snaps into the phone.

“…wow, did Oikawa leave you with something up your ass today?” Matsukawa shoots back. “I knew he was kinky, but damn, this sounds like a helluva big stick." 

“Ugh, I’m sorry, you’re right, I’m just – you know. Pre-parents jitters. Asking Tooru’s parents for their blessing.” Hajime sighs.

“Dude, you’ve literally known them all your life, what’s there to worry about? You’ve got it, man.”

“It’s still weird.”

“They probably already know that it has come to the point when they can’t get rid of you, even if they tried.”

“Exactly! If things get awkward, it’s going to be awkward for _the rest of my life._ ”

“Can’t get rid of you even with bug repellent.” Matsukawa says with a note of finality and mock sage-ness.

Matsukawa’s jibe reminds Hajime a little too much of his own words the night before, and brings the guilt flooding back in tidal waves that threaten to overwhelm the dam of his crumbling self-control.

“Right, okay, you’ve fulfilled your moral obligation of providing some semblance of comfort, you can stop now.” Hajime says, pinching the bridge of his oily nose to stave off the Matsukawa-induced migraine, because all his friends seem to possess the unique and unequalled gift of inducing headaches with a few simple words. “I appreciate the intent, if not the actual comforting.”

Matsukawa cackles evilly into the phone, but agrees easily. “Okay, I’ll try to get the team together for Sunday, but no promises! On such short notice, they’ll probably have stuff planned.”

“I’m not going to wait any longer.” Hajime says firmly.

“But to see you propose… to _Oikawa_ , man, I think the whole team is going to turn up. If word gets out, lord knows half the school population will be there. I know _I_ wouldn’t miss it for the world."

“Thanks, Matsukawa.” Hajime says quietly, feeling dread start to seep into the crevices of his already weakened fortress of self-control as the train pulls into his stop. “See you tomorrow, then.”

“Good luck.” Matsukawa returns gaily, and then kills the call, leaving Hajime with the steady drone of an abandoned line wailing in his ear. 

 


	20. Chapter 20

Hajime gets off the train and jogs along the familiar route back to his and Tooru’s houses, feeling each step firm and solid beneath him, propelling him upwards, pushing him forwards, past the familiar scenery and nostalgic memories to where Tooru is waiting for him to arrive. 

He goes to Tooru’s house first, taking a moment to compose himself before knocking quietly on the front door. 

Tooru’s mother opens the door with a loud exclamation of “Hajime-kun! I’ve been waiting for you!”, stepping forward to embrace him briefly and bestow the customary hair mussing and face pinching that seems to be concomitant with expressions of motherly love.

“He’s upstairs in his room.” Tooru’s mother tells him knowingly before he can even ask, and Hajime nods gravely. “Go on, then.”

Surprisingly enough, Tooru’s door isn’t locked, which Hajime only discovers after knocking for five minutes to no reply, Stepping into the achingly familiar room where he spent half of his childhood, he’s greeted with nothing but furniture and empty spaces, on the bed, in the closet and walls where clothes and posters are now hanging in the apartment back in Tokyo.

If Hajime hasn’t spent as much time with Tooru as he has, if Hajime didn’t know Tooru as well as he does, he might very well have just walked right out.

But Hajime has made the same mistake before, has weathered these same storms, perhaps not as violent or loud with the crackling crash of thunder and flashing lightning strikes, but no less devastating all the same.

He leans his arms on the windowsill and sticks his head out of the window, squinting against the sun and peering into the canopy of green withering into brown that is their special tree.

Near the top, there’s a dark blot of shadow that looks suspiciously large and humanoid, crouching amongst the branches and higher than Hajime would deem as safe.

Heaving a sigh of resignation that is resolutely not regret, Hajime swings himself out of the window to land on a branch below, the tree swaying alarmingly under his weight. There’s a flurry of movement from above, dust and debris sprinkling down to shower his upturned face with ruins. 

Hajime pauses, uncertain, tense.

“Tooru?” He calls out, trying to flush the hesitation from his voice, palms starting to sweat and freezing up in a way that isn’t at all reassuring to his continued being on the tree. 

The figure shifts again, and a muffled voice says, “Go away.”

This isn’t a command or a request, isn’t something that is meant to sway, meant to plea. At this point, they probably both know that there’s no going back, no walking away, not when they’ve already come so far.

It’s a half-hearted call for retreat, a cry of vulnerability that is as much trying to tell Hajime to leave him be and never leave him alone.

“I’m coming up.” Hajime says, warning of an invasion that’s still unclear whether it’s to help or harm, meant to besiege or defend.

There’s no reply, and Hajime starts the slow haul up. Dying and dead bark alike tear under the pull of his palms, crumbling to dust and swirling to the ground, a whirlwind of immutable descent back to the earth. 

The branches thin out, becoming sparse and narrow, twigs of deceiving strength that crack under his grip. 

They’re quite a bit up from where their treehouse used to be, a rotting reminder of what used to be a sturdy haven, resilient even in the face of the wildest storms.

How many times had they sneaked out of their bedrooms to sleep in the treehouse, how many hours had they whiled away within its mighty fortress, how many dreams had they born and shared? 

_(All things, no matter how strong at first, will only wither away in the end.)_

Hajime can see Tooru now, crouched on the thickest branch this high up, which really isn’t very thick at all, and probably not suited to hold the weight of a tall young man in the zenith of youthful masculinity.

Hajime resists the urge to immediately tell Tooru to climb back down to where it’s safer, where they’re together, where Hajime can be there to protect Tooru from all sorts of things, even if it’s Tooru, even if it’s Hajime himself. 

Instead, Hajime settles himself in a rather precarious position of balancing his weight on two hopefully steady branches and bracing himself against the trunk, taking long, deep breaths against his fear of heights, having fallen headlong once already, for the most predictable yet unpredicted person possible. 

Tooru has always been the one who aimed for the stars, dared too much, climbed too high and sometimes overreached, realized that there was no one who had his back to hold him steady, falling back down the blazing path to hell on earth and breaking, a leg and sometimes more.

 _(A heart - his own, someone else’s.)_  

Hajime has always been just a few steps behind, trying to reach out and catch him should Tooru fall, but a back that’s turned away is a back that is hard to have, and sometimes Hajime would be a moment too late to steady Tooru, a step too far behind. 

He has already made this mistake once before, and it’s one time too many to bear.

“Hey,” Hajime says, not so much awkwardly but tentatively, unable to conceal his wince of embarrassment. 

Tooru looks up, and Hajime notices with relief that his eyes aren’t rimmed with tell-tale red, even though they’re shadowed by dark circles and look drowned by despair.

“Why are you here?” Tooru asks him, asks _of_ him, and Hajime replies, “I’m here to bring you back.”

“Why should I go back?” Tooru snipes, flicking his head slightly so his curls bounce and shine in the sunlight.

“Come back with me.” Hajime says, steadily, not _come back to me,_ but _with me_ , and implicit in the plea is the unwavering certainty that if Tooru isn’t going back, Hajime won’t either.

Because they’ve always done everything together, and the only difference is that now instead of being one step behind, Hajime’s two steps ahead and Tooru is trying to run away.

“I don’t want to go back.” Tooru says somewhat petulantly, the familiar cadence of whining trying to mask the underlying seriousness of the situation.

“ _I_ want you to come back.” Hajime argues.

“Oh yeah?” Tooru shoots back. “It’s not that easy, Iwa-chan!”

“Why can’t it be that easy?" 

“You’re talking about things you know nothing about! Do you know how much I – I –“ Tooru breaks off abruptly, swiping an angry hand over his eyes. “Forget it.” 

“Okay.” Hajime says. “Okay. I promise. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll make it right by you.”

“Lofty words, Iwa-chan.” Tooru glares at him. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

“But I always say things I don’t mean, you _know_ that.” Hajime says. “But they’re mostly vulgarities about you.”

Hajime carefully climbs a little higher so that he’s almost directly underneath where Tooru is huddled. 

“Like when I call you a dumbass, because you’re not. You’re the smartest person I know.” Hajime continues, and then he reaches out a hand cross the empty space. “Like when I say I want to get rid of you, or that I wouldn’t want a perfect trust with you.”  

There’s a moment of stillness, Hajime’s hand trembling slightly but never really wavering, and then –

 


	21. Chapter 21

_(I’m here.)_

Tooru reaches out to grasp his hand firmly, fingers curling into the emptiness between Hajime’s like it was meant to be there all along, and something slides into place deep within him like a puzzle piece Hajime didn’t know he was missing.

Tooru chokes out a laugh, looking ready to cry, face flaming red and nose starting to run.

_(I love you.)_

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Hajime says gruffly, trying not to cry himself, pulling Tooru down off his branch into his arms and hugging him tightly, not daring to let go, not daring to hold too tight.

This time, so, so different from the last time on the tree, Hajime’s the one who brings them together, who kisses Tooru softly, sweetly, like they have all the time in the world, because he’s done chasing after little pockets of time with Tooru and telling himself that it’s enough when it _isn’t_ , when he can have _forever_ s, when he can have _more._

He’s done flinching away when he could have come running, he’s done with letting his own insecurities cause so much unhappiness and anger.  

_(I want you.)_

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru gasps out, watery with snot and tears, back arching and slouching down to press his face into Hajime’s shoulder and arms wrapping tight around Hajime. “Iwa-chan.”

Hajime’s heart twists with something feral, something fiery, something that’s all force and all feeling, leaving him gasping for something that air can’t quite fill.

In that moment, Hajime doesn’t care if the branches break beneath their feet, because, he thinks, he will surely, definitely, without a second thought, twist around in the air so that he’s underneath Tooru, so that he can protect Tooru and make sure that he’s all right. 

Because as long as Tooru’s fine, that’s all that really matters, isn’t it?

_(I don’t care if I end up hurting myself.)_

“Shh.” Hajime coos thickly, running his hands across Tooru’s broad back, through his messy hair, squeezing his shoulders and nuzzling into his neck. “It’s okay now.”

_(I’m never going to hurt you anymore, not if I can help it.)_

They half-crouch, half-stand there on branches that are liable to break and send them hurtling to the earth in moments, stand there in such a physically uncomfortable position, back aching and thighs hurting, the leaves that are necessary to cloak them from prying eyes scratchy and scraping across their faces, but Hajime has never ever been more willing, more ready, to stand there in that moment, to take on all the possible pain of the future, to learn from all the previous mistakes, to _be_ with Tooru in that moment and never, ever regret it.

“C’mon,” Hajime says quietly. “Let’s go back down.”

Tooru nods against his shoulder, unwilling to pull away completely, holding Hajime’s hand so tightly that Hajime simply doesn’t have the heart to tell him to let go. 

It’s slow going, but they hold on to each other, they help each other and don’t let go even when it might be better to, more logical to.

And then, when they’re about a third down the tree, the branch under Tooru’s foot snaps, like a gunshot in the silence, aimed straight at the heart and fired without remorse.

Tooru flails, crying out, his reflexes lightning quick and snagging onto a nearby branch – but it cracks, another gunshot echoing in Hajime’s ears. Hajime instinctively tightens his hold on Tooru and tries to grab on to something, anything – but the combined weight of two men are too much and they plummet to the ground, twigs whipping at their faces and cracking on their backs.

In that split second of pure terror, of sheer panic, Hajime sees Tooru below him, mouth open in a silent scream, and the last thought that went through Hajime’s head is, _why couldn’t it have been me instead?!?!?_

Something cracks, painfully loud, when they land.

Pain explodes in his elbow, his hip, his back, his head – his body erupts in agony and the impact slams the breath out of his lungs like a sledgehammer to his throat, darkness clouding his vision for a terrifying moment.

“Tooru – “ He chokes out, scrambling to sit up blindly before his vision focuses again, and the first thing Hajime sees is Tooru curled up on his side, hugging his knee.

Oh god, his _knee_.

“Tooru!” Hajime practically scoops Tooru into a sitting position to look at his knee, and it is when his hands brush the softness of carpeted floor and not grass that Hajime realises, with a start, that they’re not on the ground, but in the treehouse.

Looking up, the rotting roof is gone, pieces of wood scattered on the floor. That had probably been what had broken their fall, along with the cushioning on the floor of the treehouse itself, carpets and cushions because seven-year-old Tooru had complained the wooden planks were hard and cold.

Hajime sees his relief and astonishment and a hundred other emotions reflected in Tooru’s eyes, and Hajime quickly returns his attention to Tooru’s knee, gently prying Tooru’s hands away to check for swelling. 

“Did you land on it?” Hajime asks worriedly.

“No, but I hit it really hard when falling down, so it hurts like fuck.” Tooru says through clenched teeth, eyes closed and head bowed, hands clutching at Hajime’s with a death grip.

“We need to get it iced, c’mon.” Hajime says, moving to stand, but Tooru tugs him down, insistently.

“Can we just stay for a while?” Tooru asks, lying down gingerly on his back, the wave of pain seeming to have abated for now. “Isn’t it cool?” 

“What’s cool?” Hajime asks, flopping down next to him and snaking his arms over Tooru’s stomach, under his head.

“Our treehouse saved us.” Tooru grins, carefully, as if he’s pushing it out through his grimace. Hajime brings a hand up to stroke his cheek until it gives way into something more relaxed, something genuine.

“Yeah. I thought it had rotted away, but it’s still pretty sturdy, huh?” 

“Like our friendship.” Tooru says sagely. “There were a few times I thought we weren’t going to make it, but we did. And even though it may seem to be rotting on the outside, our foundation is so unshakeable and firm, built upon our perfect trust!”

_(_ _Always catch me when I fall.)_

“If you’re well enough to spout bullshit, your knee shouldn’t be too bad.” Hajime says, but he’s sure the tenderness on his face betrays the coarseness of his words.

_(Some things, no matter how brutal the storms, will hold strong until the end.)_

“Iwa-chan, let’s rebuild the treehouse one day." 

“Yeah.” Hajime agrees. “We’ll build it better and stronger than it ever was before. We’ll build it to last a lifetime, and never rot.”

Tooru laughs at that, muttering something about _“hopeless romantic, I always knew it”_ even as Hajime helps him to his feet, and Hajime insists on half-carrying him back into the house, and Tooru lets him, even though he’s probably able to walk by himself.

Hajime makes sure to have an arm around Tooru’s back, holding him close, supporting him, never a step too far behind or a moment too late, because if Tooru ever falls again, Hajime will definitely be there to have his back, to steady him and to catch him.

_(Always.)_

 


	22. Chapter 22

Tooru sighs, rolling over in his bed and wincing as his knee flares up in pain, swollen and burning from its rather harsh encounter with the tree branch. The pain feels like he fell twenty stories and smashed his knee into the cement pavement at terminal velocity, what with how much it throbs.

Stupid tree branch. Tooru sniffs into his pillow, breathing in the familiar fragrance of the detergent his mother uses, a scent that’s quickly being replaced in his mind by the comfort of another smell, a new brand of detergent selling cheap in Tokyo.

Miyaji isn’t half as brightly lit as the city, and the inky blackness is darker than he remembered it to be, the bed feeling emptier than it ever did before. The glow-in-the-dark stars from years ago are still pasted on his ceiling, and the small, scattered lights bring some warmth and brightness, however miniscule, however far away. 

Tooru can’t help but grin when he remembers how he and Hajime had struggled to reach the ceiling at seven years old, so in the end Tooru had clambered onto Hajime, who stood on the bed, and they were happily sticking up stars with this brilliant new idea right up until Tooru’s mom had poked her head in and instantly started screaming.  

The smile slips off his face as he throws an arm out over his bed, finding it mildly disconcerting that his fingers brush the cold, cool wall of his room, that the mattress isn’t weighed down by another person, that there’s space to actually wave his arm around. 

But then again, he’s spent so many nights with a warm body beside his, falling asleep to the sound of steady, reassuring breaths, more often than not waking up with a muscled arm wrapped around his waist, a nose nuzzled into his neck and almost giddy with sheer happiness.   

He’s grown much, much too spoilt. He’s grown spoilt on affection he likes to pretend means more than it does, platonic feelings that will probably only ever stay that way, futile hope that ruins as much as it raises.

Tooru drapes the blanket over his head and tries to smother himself with the cotton, hating himself and his stupid pride, oh, and his stupid _feelings_ , which has given him so much grief over the past few months.

And he’s seen the consequence of that, hasn’t he? There’s no point in holding on to someone that’s always been meant to go. This time, Tooru’s done for real.

This sudden decision leaves him feeling simultaneously sad and impossibly relieved, and he tries to hold fast to what lingering courage and resolve he has, fumbling for his phone and pressing the speed dial before he can start to regret.

 _I’m a coward_ , Tooru reflects, heart thumping so loud in his chest he half thinks his bed might be shaking with the force of his trembling nervousness. _I can’t do this person, nope, definitely not. It’s already scary enough as it is._

 _Please don’t pick up,_ Tooru thinks desperately, not really sure if he means it or not, tries to convey his incoherent confusion to Hajime telepathically, because Hajime has always been good at understanding him even when he doesn’t understand himself.

“ _What the fuck do you want_?” Hajime growls into his ear, and Tooru is instantly and abundantly grateful for the sharp sound quality modern electronic technology provides, because the rough drag of Hajime’s voice, husky and low with sleep, reverberates around his ear and straight to his brain, where it promptly brings all thought processes to a screeching halt. 

Like the last time, it sure does _things_ to Tooru that make his toes curl and his attention suddenly switch from his throbbing knee to another bodily appendage that _really_ shouldn’t be throbbing right now. Hearing that voice, vulgarities or otherwise, instantaneously turns Tooru into the most confused person on the whole planet. 

“Sleeping so early? Iwa-chan is an old man.” Tooru croons into his phone, a knee-jerk reaction that’s so deeply ingrained it’s probably already a thigh-jerk reaction, so it doesn’t require any sort of cognitive functioning to be delivered.

“You call me at 2 fucking am in the _bloody_ morning to _insult me_?” Hajime says. “I was _sleeping_ , asshole.”

“Iwa-chan better get more beauty sleep! Apparently sleeping more helps you grow taller.” 

Hajime snorts, but it comes out as a lazy kind of sigh instead, and then there’s rustling of bedsheets on the other end of the line. Is he turning over? Sitting up? Tooru’s fingers clench around the phone, squeezing his eyes shut and scrunching up his face, safe in knowledge that Hajime can’t see his pain.

“So, what’s up?” Hajime asks, sounding more awake and vaguely curious. 

Tooru swallows, digging his nails into his thigh. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

 _Just get it over and done with._ Tooru tells himself. _Don’t think._

He’s already starting to hyperventilate - quick, small gasps to stave off the great heaving sobs that’s sure to follow, but he’s _strong_ , and he will get through this without crying, without breaking. Or at least not audibly. 

“What is it?” Hajime asks.

“I’m in love with you.” Tooru says all abruptly, the words straining against the prison of his pride, a wild beast of unfettered emotion threatening to burst out, and into flames. “Have been, for, like, the longest time. Iwa-chan is really dense not to have noticed!”

He laughs, mirthlessly, because the animal in his chest is roaring to be released, so he chokes it out in a chuckle before it can explode in a tidal wave of tears and despair that he must keep tightly dammed for now.

Hajime is dead silent on the other end of the line, and Tooru is so, so relieved that he chose to do this over a phone call, because there’s that safe physical distance between them, separating Tooru’s heartbreak from his decision. He really, _really,_ can’t stand to see Hajime’s face right now.

How shocked it must be. Uncomprehending.

_(Don’t make it any more painful than it has to be.)_

“Oh, Tooru…” Hajime starts, then trails off, seemingly at a total loss for words, but what’s most evident, most painfully obvious, is the way Hajime’s voice is awash with tenderness, and – with an aching emotion that must be _pity_.

 _Pity_.

The beast inside Tooru roars, and the walls of his self-control waver. 

“You don’t have to say anything.” Tooru says quickly, because he can’t bear to hear the empty platitudes and stammering rejections. “I know." 

_(I know you don’t feel the same.)_

“Why now?” Hajime asks, almost sharply, and there’s an edge of – of frustration? – of exasperation? – even if Hajime tries to soften the blow, ask it gently, Tooru can still feel the slice of it.

“Why not now?” Tooru can’t help but lash out himself, the instinctive vice-like grip of pride keeping his voice from falling apart completely. “ _Sorry_ , is this an _inconvenient_ time for you?”

And then, Hajime starts to say, “Hey, no I don’t mean it that way. Look, I wasn’t going to tell you, but – “ 

“I’m over you.” Tooru rushes out all at once, because he _needs_ to, he needs these three words to fortify the crumbling walls of his pride, to seal over the cracks and exposed vulnerability before Hajime can knock it down completely. He needs to _protect_ himself.  

_(I’ll never be over you, but I’m sure as hell going to try.)_

Hajime’s gone dead silent, and Tooru plunges on. 

“I’m telling you just so you know.” Tooru says. “Because I don’t want there to be secrets between us.”

_(So that maybe, just maybe – you’ll understand a little more when I pull away, when I distance you and me.)_

_(Because I’m sure I can’t bear to watch you be happy with someone else that isn’t me, but I’m too selfish to let you have that future without the shadow of our past. I don’t want to have to bear that burden alone.)_

_(I’m sorry.)_

“I don’t expect anything from you. I’m moving on.” Tooru declares, plasters and coats his flaking voice with as much lacquered confidence as he can, the silence not quite filled up with his empty words. “I’m moving on.” 

_(Maybe saying it out, to Hajime, will make it more real._

_Because this is his life now._

_There is no going back.)_

“That’s all I wanted to say! You can go back to sleep now, Iwa-chan! Sorry for disturbing you.” Tooru says, and he very consciously breathes with through his mouth, because his nose is all stuffed up and his eyes are burning and he’s on the verge of giving away his hurt with the tell-tale waver of a voice about to break. 

Hajime’s still quiet.

Tooru curls up into a ball, back bowed and shoulders shaking even as he presses the phone to his ear as hard as he can, like Hajime might actually be talking but the sound isn’t on. 

“You’re… over me?” Hajime finally asks, and he sounds… flat. He sounds _disinterested_ , like Tooru hasn’t just spilled his deepest darkest secret to him, like Tooru’s feelings _mean_ nothing. 

And really, _that’s_ what he focuses on? Not the fact that Tooru has been in love with him for his _whole goddamn life_?! _God,_ how _narcissism_ could Hajime get? 

Hurt and humiliation flare up in his gut and his eyes are scorching with raging seas of liquid fire, nails carving half-moons of shame into his palm.

“Yep!” He says into the phone instead, popping the “p” if a little wetly, as if getting over Hajime is something that only took five seconds, and not something that would most probably still be raw and bleeding five decades down the road. 

_(I hope you hurt.)_

_(…I know you probably won’t, but I’m hurting more than enough for the both of us._

_I hope you don’t ever find out how much I’ve hurt.)_

Hajime makes some small sound of understanding, a _monosyllabic,_ non-committal _grunt,_ and his lack-luster response, devoid of any sort of concern, just breaks Tooru’s heart.

“Right! That’s all. Goodbye.” Tooru spits, shaking. 

“Tooru, wait - !” Hajime starts to say, but Tooru hangs up immediately, not able to even see straight through the sea in his eyes or think through the heat in his head, continues to press the End Call button viciously even after the dial tone echoes desolately in his ear, as finally, finally, the tears begin to fall.

 


	23. Chapter 23

He’s furious.                        

Tooru is furiously mad, and furiously sad. 

“I hate you!” He whisper-screams into his pillow, throwing his phone at his bed. It bounces off the mattress and lands on the floor with a satisfying crunch, and he screams silently into his pillow, dragging his fingers through his hair and _pulling_ , letting the pain urge him and ground him, letting the pain punish him.

His pride is almost entirely broken, and the beast has been let loose, fury and shame morphing into despair and frustration, an uncontrollable whirlwind that has him raking his nails over his shoulders, his stomach, tearing at his hair, just anything, _anything_ to get his mind off the conversation that just transpired.

It’s not enough. It’s not enough to convey the sheer _emotion_ and _pain_ he feels, he _needs_ to feel. Because he’d much rather endure the pain of the flesh than deal with the hurt of the heart. Tooru tries, futilely, to distract himself.

The _shame_ of it, the _disappointment_ and _hurt_ – he can’t deal with it, he doesn’t know _how_ , he just wants to hurt something, and the easiest target is himself. He claws at his chest, and thought the scratches he leaves are shallow, but the stinging is good. It calms him. The pain helps to take the edge off the shame. 

“You don’t even care at all, do you, _do you even care at all?!_ ”

He wipes at his face with shaking hands, regarding the wetness on his fingers with betrayal, disgust morphing into rage as he hurls the whole bedful of alien soft toys to the ground, or throws them with a vengeance against the curtained window. 

“Do my feelings mean nothing to you, huh?”

Tooru kicks everything off the bed and pounds his fist onto the bare mattress, wanting to rip and shred and _destroy,_ just _ruin_ something the way Hajime had ruined him.

He jumps onto the bed and starts to rip off the glow-in-the-dark stars, tearing them off the ceiling with a raw kind of power and sending them hurtling down to the floor like shooting stars fallen from grace, weighed down by all the unfulfilled wishes of naïve children. 

When he’s torn off all the stars he can reach, he stands on his bed, eyes sweeping across the room with a dangerous hunger, his inner beast running wild.

His eyes land on the photo frame on his bed stand, one they took in junior high, granted the place of High Honour next to his head because they both look so goddamn _happy,_ because it was a constant reminder of all the good things in life. 

_(Not anymore.)_

_(Never, ever again.)_

A small part of him, fragile and cracked and quickly dying, whispers, “ _oh no._ ”

And the bigger, _angry_ part of him, which is around 99.8% right now, whispers back – “oh _yes_.”

So he grabs the photo frame with its glass protector and flings it at the wall. 

“I hate you I hate you I hate you!”

His anguish and rage intensify as he realizes that, more than hating Hajime, more than hating anything else, he hates _himself._

How could he have been so naïve? – so foolish?

Tooru stumbles off the bed and collapses heavily on his knees next to the shattered photo frame, the broken glass cutting into his legs.

_(Deep, deep down inside, I expected – I hoped, that you’d have felt the same.)_

A strong shudder wracks his crumpled frame, and he can’t stop fucking _crying_ no matter how hard he tries, the rejection is an endless stream of pain and hurt and tears. He ignores his throbbing knee, and as he reaches for the photo, cuts his hand on one of the pieces of jagged glass.

He stares at the blood welling up in his palm blankly, the way the dark liquid pools in the crevices of his skin, glinting in the moonlight – and then he has an insane and almost irresistible impulse to take that piece of glass and squeeze it in his hand, squeeze until the glass cuts through flesh and bone and splits his hands open because – because he’s learnt the hard way, hasn’t he?

That some things have the sharpest edges when they break, and he wonders what it would be like to hold something like that in his hand for once, instead of having it cut up the breath in his chest from inside. 

_(I thought you would’ve at least said something nice, I thought you would’ve immediately come over, told me it was okay – reassured me. Because isn’t that what you’ve always done?)_

The glass that had protected their precious memories and unbreakable bond now lay shattered at his feet, and he resolutely doesn’t look at that blood-stained fragment as he picks up the picture, almost cradling it in his trembling hands.

Tooru stares at the photo, stares at their happy, young faces, arms wrapped around each other like it was the most _natural_ thing in the world, stares as tears drip off his nose to land on the laminated surface, rolling off the edges and leaving the picture unscathed.

_(I thought you would have cared.)_

“How could I have been so _stupid_?” 

His voice drops, threatening to break. 

“Hajime.” Tooru whispers, tilting his chin upwards to where the stars no longer shine, the darkness a mass of black and despair. “I wish – “ 

The words catch in his throat. He holds out the picture and stares at it, blood trickling down his arm and broken glass shimmering on the floor, and the wild beast jumps alive and _howls_ in _anger_ , in _sorrow_ , in _pain_ , smashing the full weight of its unbridled regret against the pillars of his pride, and it _breaks._  

_“I wish I had never loved you.”_

Tooru tears the photo in half, and then in half again, and again, and again, until his fingers are clutching at nothing, until there is nothing left to rip into but himself, until all that’s left is a mess of shattered glass, shredded memories and broken hearts.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm a total sucker for fluff and angst between these two  
> i headcanon so much i don't even know what's canon anymore  
> (featuring angsty oikawa with unresolved issues and angsty iwaizumi with unresolved issues) (both in love and in pain) (that shit does things to their self-control) 
> 
> side note: the timeline here about when, exactly, the third years quit their clubs and the national exam and graduation dates are pretty messed up since I can't seem to find any info on that online, so please don't take my wild guesses as fact and tell me if you know!
> 
> thanks for reading !! enjoy :D


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